Through Different Eyes
by NastElilBuggr
Summary: Fiyero didn't think much about death or what came after it. He certainly couldn't have imagined it involving waking up at the threshold of Shiz University with a chance for a new future. Somehow, Elphaba's magic saved him and now he had a chance to save her too. Whether he could figure out how to get the green girl to fall in love with him again was another challenge altogether.
1. Prologue

**Hey folks! I'm sorry for my absence for so long. I'm sure you're wondering why after all this time I'm posting a new story when I should be working on The Aberration, and to that I say: It's all HollyBush's fault. She encouraged this. And the other story too, but mostly this. **

**Please, enjoy. Well, you know, after I kill Fiyero.**

**And don't forget to let me know what you think.**

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Everything around Fiyero was fading: the light and heat of the setting sun, the howling wind ripping into him, the little bits of life that hid as night rolled in. Fiyero wasn't a religious fellow, but he prayed with everything he was that he could fade with it. For hours his body sagged further on his cross— his torn muscles and ligaments screamed, his shattered bones shredded him from the inside out, blood congealed over a mess of distended bruises and lesions. He was too weak to cry out anymore, even as the stalks of corn thrashed and flogged against his battered legs. In the last minutes of light, the prince could do nothing but watch, with one eye swollen shut, the glistening of red blood in the husk and silk of the corn before the quiet sunset hid them away in the shadows of eventide.

_At least Elphaba got away._ It was the thought that unwittingly resounded in his mind with each flair up of pain. And because she had escaped, none of this was in vain. He had no regrets.

He tried to think about her, to remember every moment before he had her leave. While he could still see he would turn his eyes to the area in which they had all stood and made-believed she was still there, her dress and cloak whipping about her as they locked eyes one last time.

He wished she was there, touching his face and soothing him with her warm voice, but he hoped he'd die without this longings fulfilled, because then _this_, all of this, would be for naught. They would capture her. They were out there somewhere, waiting to catch a glimpse of green in the sky, no doubt mocking him while he convulsed on this pole as he stifled painful coughs and shivered violently in the cold.

Fiyero didn't know how long it took before he finally, truly began to die. He didn't know how he knew that these moments were the end, for the pain did not wane, but he felt his heart slow, as if each additional millisecond between the beats was a countdown or reparation for his anguish. And so he listened, with everything in him, to the spaces between throbs, to the promising silence in the darkness that foreshadowed peace.

_Fiyero!_

Elphaba's voice, unmistakable to him even in the delirium of death, made him tauten in shock, his head snapping up to find her, to wrench his one good eyelid open despite the thick blood that had glued it shut. A shockwave of pain swept over him as he reacted and his heart palpitated in turn, giving up on death to seek out his lover.

He made to call out to her, to let the first words he spoke in hours be her name, but instead he choked violently on blood and saliva, coughing out bursts of fluid over his chin and trembling from the consequent agony.

He didn't see her but he heard her, like she surrounded him, enveloped him, like a comforting blanket against the cold: _Eleka nahmen nahmen, ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen…Eleka nahmen nahmen, ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen…_

His weak limbs struggling feebly against their bindings as he tried to reach out to her, wherever she was. Her voice didn't seem to come from any one direction, but every direction at once, or somewhere within him, or both, or somehow nowhere at all.

_Eleka nahmen nahmen, ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen…Eleka nahmen nahmen, ah tum ah tum eleka—eleka!_

He didn't want to die anymore, he realized, hearing her voice once more, but the wish came too late. He gasped in an empty breath and the pulsation throughout him hesitated too long so that it couldn't recover. Involuntarily, his entire form tensed, highlighting every broken part of him, driving the nail the soldiers had hammered through the post farther into his back, forcing the inevitable reality into him. Convulsions rocked him, his body fighting itself as it struggled to suck in air it physically couldn't handle anymore, as blood slowed in his veins against his will. His last thought was of the passion in her eyes and the love she had for him that he needed so desperately to return to her before this was over. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end.

_Elphaba…_

And Fiyero Tiggular died, his shattered body an empty shell in a silent cornfield as his life left it forever.


	2. Chapter 1

Fiyero woke suddenly and a harsh, sharp, involuntary breath filled his lungs. He exhaled and immediately his body sucked in another agonizing gulp of air as though it thought it could fight death with oxygen alone, as though it was determined for each lungful to not be the last. Fiyero pitched forward, arms flailing wildly, and upon the realization they were no longer bound to the surface on which they had been stretched across his eyes snapped open of their own accord. Light assaulted him violently and he cried out, clapping a hand over his face to shield himself, but his senses continued to be battered: creaking, thumping, bumping, rattling deafened him, liquid dripped from his nose and his mouth burned with the foul flavor of pure ethanol.

"Master Fiyero!"

A voice, louder than even the onslaught of noise that beat his already aching head, called out, and he started, jerking back as if to protect himself from his newest attacker. No, he wasn't dead yet, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of killing him, and he swatted blindly at him.

His world, which had been a jumble of vibrations and jolts, suddenly came to an abrupt stop and he had not prepared himself for it. He fell against a vertical surface and crashed to the ground, where his long, aching limbs were trapped in a seemingly tight cubby.

"Master Fiyero!" he heard again, this time, far too close, and his eyelids peeled back to see not a soldier, but an old, familiar face, one that he had not seen in many moons.

"Aerijk?" he mumbled groggily as his old servant came into focus.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Of course he wasn't okay. The man who had once acted as his aide grabbed him and helped him up into a sitting position. Fiyero merely grabbed his pounding head as he saw he was not in a cornfield or a prison cell as he expected to be, but rather a carriage. Moisture stuck on his trembling hand from his face and he pulled it down to look at it, expecting his scarlet essence to cling to it, but instead it gleamed with a sheen of mere sweat. His shirt felt as though it was also soaked with perspiration where it should have been caked with blood, but the only crimson he saw was that of a red vest he didn't remember wearing; he reached behind him frantically, trying to find where the nail had pierced his back. Not only was it not there, there was no wound.

His rapid movement sent his head spiraling and his stomach lurching. "I think I'm going to be sick," he told Aerijk, and his old driver wasted no time in dropping down from the carriage step to let the prince stagger past him, barely touching the ground before he heaved and vomited across the pavement.

Waves of nausea crashed over him and he kept retching, even when the contents of his stomach were dispelled completely, and when he finally could right himself he could distinctly recognize the taste of repeated liquor, though how that was possible he did not know.

He wiped saliva from his chin with the back of a shaky hand and tried to determine their location through his watering eyes.

This did not look like Munchkinland, and the path to the Emerald City was one he knew well. If he had to venture a guess, he would have thought the rolling green hills, scattered trees and bright blue sky belonged to Gillikin, but without any recognizable landmarks to go by, for all he knew the small homes that littered the landscape could have existed out of Oz.

"Where are we? And how did we get here?"

"Almost there, sir," Aerijk said. "We've been travelling all day."

"Almost _where?"_

"Shiz University!"

"Impossible," Fiyero murmured, and set off unsteadily down the road, where less than a quarter a mile away waited a cluster of buildings. Aerijk kept calling for him but once he got a better handle on his limbs he took off at a run, hoping that something or someone there would have the answers he needed.

The first door he found was that of a small store, and he burst his way in ungracefully and found a stack of newspapers, ignoring the gaping stares from its patrons as he snatched up a copy. Sure enough, it was a local paper of a town only a few miles from Shiz, along with popular printings of eastern Gillikin. Not a single issue boasted of the Wicked Witch above its fold, of Glinda the Good, or of Nessarose's recent demise. He checked the date, wanting to know how much time had passed since that night in Munchkinland; it had to have been substantial if all the injuries he had received at the hands of the Gale Force were nothing but aches at this point and if everything he knew was old news…

He dropped the paper in shock as the numbers processed his mind. They read as a date long ago. _Impossible_, he thought again, but even from the floor the small print did not change. He picked up another newspaper, seeing if it was a mistake, but the date did not change. The other two in stock confirmed it.

Was this some elaborate ploy? A trick? He looked up at the salesman, who was watching him warily, and suspicion washed over him. The Wizard must have arranged this…had his driver pick him up and treat his injuries, then bring him to Gillikin where he would awake to see the carefully manipulated props left for him in some random town… No. Even Elphaba, distrusting as she was, would probably laugh at his development of conspiracy theories. So what was this then? Was this all but a vivid dream? Was he really still hung up on a pole somewhere across Oz with his blood slowly leaking from a hole in his back, his mind fading into hallucinations?

He thought about the last few moments before his world had closed in on him, when he heard Elphaba's voice in his head, chanting words he did not know… Was it possible that she had magicked this? Had she sent him reeling back in time? He had never heard of such a thing.

Fiyero was about to walk out of the shop, deep in thought, but even in his confusion he couldn't deny his thirst. He searched his pockets, finding a large bill, grabbed a couple of bottles of water and dropped the money on the counter for the shopkeeper before leaving without a word.

Aerijk was waiting for him in the carriage and remained quiet as the prince downed an entire bottle before starting the second.

"Well sire, that must have been quite a night you had last night," he said, referencing his obvious hangover.

Fiyero dumped the last of the water over his head, hoping it could clear the last of his incoherent thoughts, and climbed back in the carriage, still dripping wet. He found a pair of sunglasses on the seat next to him and put them on, grateful, and leaned back wearily in his seat. "You have no idea."

By the time Shiz, in all its glory, appeared in the distance, the warm wind had dried him completely, but Fiyero was oblivious. Aerijk's driving had lulled him into a stupor, one filled with thoughts of Elphaba and of this lucid dream from which he would not wake. He wasn't sure if it was temporary; if he fell unconscious again, would he return to his battered body with the tall cornstalks whipping against his broken kneecaps and birds circling him impatiently? As much as he wanted to return to Elphaba, he hoped not.

"Here we are, sir! Shiz University!"

"Already?" he murmured. He pulled his chin up from his chest and stretched, peering over his sunglasses. Sure enough, mossy bluestone walls surrounded him behind nets of thick vine, and watery-glass windows glistened brightly at him as though to welcome him optimistically to the antiquated campus. Nostalgia hit hard, as a soft-spoken insight from a certain green girl would, and a breath shuddered from his lips as he leapt out of the coach and onto the cobblestone courtyard at the base of Ozma Towers.

"It's the Winkie prince!" students hissed loudly to one another across the square, causing women and men alike all to stare at him. He stilled, paranoid, at first fearing that soldiers or security would burst between the seams of moving bodies, but then the dates and the newspaper headlines flashed through his mind. If he was right, this…this was the day he arrived at Shiz. The day of the Ozdust. The day of his and Glinda's first date. The day he met _her_.

No one called for his arrest or feared the Wicked Witch would burst from concealment behind him. If his speculation was correct, then the events of the last couple of years had yet to occur, meaning Elphaba was _not_ a villain, he was not the Captain of the Guard, Glinda was with a _guh_, Nessarose was alive, and the Wizard had yet to influence any of them. None of these people dawdling between their lectures even knew him yet. Even familiar faces, with whom he had shared a class or perhaps even a drink, gawked openly, as though trying to catch a first glimpse of the scandalacious Vinkun royal.

This was all so _crazy_.

There was a satchel on his hip and curiously he plunged a hand into it, pulling out a piece of paper he vaguely remembered from his past. The Shiz letterhead had a list of classes he was expected to attend – biology, history, political studies, economics, literature – and a list of texts he was required to read. Was this his fate? Brainless Prince Fiyero, damned to be stuck in school forever? How ironic.

"Well," he said, shaking Aerijk's hand in farewell. "Here I go again."

He peered through the crowd, desperate for a flicker of green other than the well-kempt shrubbery and shade trees that bordered the stone courtyard. But then he saw Glinda – or Galinda, he realized with a start – not too far down the way looking as simple and pretty in her Gillikinese garb as the first day he had met her. Well, he supposed this _was_ the first day he had met her. But he hadn't actually met her yet.

He was going to have to get a stiff drink before long at this rate. Well, if things were to repeat themselves, at least there would be a party.

"Are you looking for something…or someone?" a familiar voice cooed to him, and he was startled out of his reverie see Galinda had managed to glide to his side without his notice.

He pulled off his glasses to gaze down at her, searching her blue eyes for some sort of recognition or some indication that the woman whose heart he broke was hiding behind a façade. Why, he couldn't tell you, but he was a desperate man in a strange situation. But Glinda was not there; no, this was a young lady with no secrets or troubles at all. And a pang of sadness hit him, for even when he felt completely lonesome in a world that ostracized an innocent, dogmatic, misunderstood girl, he still at least had Glinda.

Instead of his close friend and quasi-fiancée, Glinda's youthful doppelganger was looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes and a beguiling smile.

"Uh," he started, blinking away his introspection to focus on the sweet socialite waiting on him. It wouldn't help his reputation if he was clearly too lost in thought to answer a seemingly simple question. What was he looking for besides the love of his life? He looked down at the schedule in his hand. "A, um, history class?"

Boq – a surprisingly pleasant face to see again here at Shiz – stepped into view and rapped him in the arm testily with a book, pointing away. "That's the history building, right over there."

"You just missed that class, actually."

It was like déjà vu, but worse. Was he supposed to be encouraging this sameness, knowing how it would all end? He reasoned he shouldn't attempt to alter anything drastically until he had a better bearing. But where would he begin? The Ozdust. That was where he and Elphaba had met the first time; Galinda had introduced them. As far as he knew, all he had done was act as the catalyst to get the party started, literally, and by the night's end they would all be friends. But what else was in his control, or what else did he influence?

So much had to go right this evening…

He plastered a fake grin on his face; a practiced act. "Perfect. So…what does one do for fun around here?"

"Nothing really," Galinda said with a cute sigh and shrug, before a clever smile graced her face. "Until now…"

"We've been studying!" little Boq said, and even all these years later, though so much had changed, he still cringed at the Munchkin's enthusiasm. While he wasn't the same man who philosophized carelessness, he still had to say something, if not for his sake then for Boq's. Elphaba had told him of his fate in Munchkinland and it was not a pleasant one.

Fiyero forced Boq to lower the book he had in his hands, seeing it was indeed the history book he himself had spent his first year at Shiz forcefully neglecting, for good reason. It was dreadfully dull. "There's more to university than studying boring wars."

"Like what?"

It was about the people, he thought. It was about second chances. It was about being truly content with his decisions, and to not take things for granted this time around. Surely the things he knew about what was to come were horrible, but he could use it all to his advantage; he would make the most of it.

Fiyero had not been wrong when he told Elphaba how much he had changed. He laughed at himself.

"The _examined_ life. Look at all the beautiful things around you!" And the Munchkin was, staring at Galinda like she was Lurline herself. "One day you'll look back and wish you had made hay while the sun shines. Nothing matters except knowing _everything_ matters."

Leaning on Boq, who was definitely sagging under his weight, he grinned at Galinda charmingly. "So…what's the most swankified place in town?"

"That would be the Ozdust Ballroom!"

He elbowed Boq in a friendly and familiar way and the small man paled at the contact. "Perfect. Let's go down to the Ozdust Ballroom—we can meet there later tonight. We'll go dancing. Find the prettiest girl—" Elphaba's face, shadowed under that hideodeous hat, filled his mind, "—give her a whirl! You'll be happy to be there."

Both men returned Galinda's pretty smile, though Boq's was comparatively dopey. "Life is going to change so much before you'll realize it. Take advantage of the time you have to enjoy yourself a little." He softly clapped Boq's heated face affectionately between his hands and decided to let the poor thing go. He stumbled off toward Galinda, puffing himself up to his full height – which was good for a Munchkin but otherwise unremarkable – when he reached her side.

"Miss Galinda? I hope you'll save at least one dance for me. I'll be right there, waiting, all night."

"Oh Bick! That's so kind! But do you know what would be even kinder? See that tragically beautiful girl? The one in the chair?" Boq followed her finger to where Nessarose Thropp – who Fiyero had almost forgotten about – was wheeling through the courtyard between classes, oblivious to the attention. "It seems so unfair that we should go and not her. Gee, I know someone would be my hero if that someone were to go invite her."

"Maybe…I could invite her?"

He was walking right into her trap, Fiyero noticed pitifully. Again. He supposed he should be grateful the boy was such a pushover, because if he expected to be introduced to Elphaba, Galinda Upland would have to be his date. And she was making sure of it.

"Oh Bick? Really? You would do that for me?"

"I would do _anything_ for you, Miss Galinda! Oh Miss Nessarose?" Boq called, out, beaming and waving at Galinda as he ran off to catch Nessa's wheelchair. "I have something I'd like to ask you!"

Fiyero watched with sadness as history began repeating himself in front of his eyes. He would take care of that later. But first he had a green girl to woo. "So…" he said to Galinda, flashing her his famous Fiyero grin. "I'll be picking you up around eight?"

"Sure. After all, now that we've met, it's clear we deserve each other. We're perfect together."

Indeed they were: still using each other for selfish gains.

"May I walk you to your next class?" he deflected, holding out his elbow for her.

"Please," she said happily, and she was practically skipping at his side. He let out a breath and kept smiling as they walked together, realizing that even though he was hoping to change the past, what he was doing was exactly like his future.

Only a few hours until he would see Elphaba and everything would change.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey folks! Thanks for the reviews. I've loved them! Man, nothing is better than reviews. Really, I'm thinking about it and making lists, going, "Nope, donuts aren't better, yo-yos aren't better, Star Wars teaser trailers aren't better..." **

**This is chapter is short, but I'll post two the make up for it.**

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After he escorted Galinda to her class, he continued past his own and escaped the stone hallway for the sunlight beyond it. He cut across campus, tracing habitual paths toward Briscoe Hall, the boy's dormitory. Students turned their heads and spoke behind their hands, perhaps originally because his reputation beat him here but also, no doubt, his behavior surely contradicted it. He didn't care.

Fiyero knew he did not act like a student who had only just arrived to Shiz less than a half-hour before. He did not glance up to double-check the name of the building before he entered it. He did not hesitate before turning in a doorway to the corner tower and taking the steps within the stone spiral staircase two at a time. He did not falter before turning left when the stairs ran out, down the sun-lit corridor on the third floor and he jammed his nickel key into the door without fumbling. But he did have to take a moment to adjust to what lay beyond the archway: his old dorm was barren, save for the trunk that was brought up for him, and was far too still.

It was just another thing here that seemed so familiar but did not make him feel welcome.

He shook it off, closing the door behind him and tossing his bag on the bed. Pulling open the drawn curtains and pushing open the glass windows helped, letting light and air filter out his room and his mind. The view had not changed, naturally: his south-facing window still faced one of the campus's large lawns, where crisscrossing cobblestoned paths and students cut over green grass and through hedges; it was a lovely, calming sight, one that he had come to appreciate in his time at Shiz. The east-facing windows, on the other hand, were of more interest to the other boys in Briscoe Hall. To the east, above the rounded tops of a few fruit trees and a private stable, was Crage Hall, where the vaulted and rarely-draped windows of the girls' dormitory constantly exposed girls in various stages of undress, far enough away to blur any details but close enough to entertain.

His eyes were trained to one window in particular; one that, in his first year at Shiz, often had within it a flash of green. Why he looked now he wasn't sure; no doubt Elphaba was in class with the majority of the inhabitants of Crage Hall.

He wished she were here with him. Was it only yesterday he held her in his arms? How cruel the fates were to make him wait so many years before he could find her only to lose her again, potentially doomed to repeat his fate. It was yearning and denial that kept his hearing alert for the sound of her at his door, for little spark of hope he had had that his lover had been transported here as well was slowly fading into ember, and if he was indeed alone, then he was the only person in all of Oz who could save Elphaba from her terrible fate, not to mention his.

At least he had the advantage of premonition. At least now he knew that back at Shiz his attraction to a certain prickly green girl was not unrequited. No, he thought contentedly —she had kissed him with as much fierceness as he did her, both of them desperate to compensate for lost time, for lost opportunities. He wouldn't make those same mistakes again. He was confident that if he played his cards right, she would be kissing him again in no time and he could do things right this time around.

While he managed to sleep off the last of his hangover before arriving at Shiz, he still felt strange in his own body. Like it wasn't his. When he saw his reflection not long later in the communal lavatory down the hall (which was empty this time of day), the man that stared back was not the same. It was inexplicable: there in the mirror were his eyes and nose and teeth and ears, but his hair was thicker and lighter and the face was slightly wrong as was the body. He peeled off his vest and shirt stared, noting how skinny he seemed compared to the strong, fit soldier he had been.

If he went too long without blinking, ghostly fists and boots seemed to rain in on him, causing him to flinch horribly. He shook it off, but invisible bruises and rope burns still ached and broken bones still throbbed under his unblemished, golden skin. The metallic scent of his own blood followed him everywhere, as though it was on every strand of hair on his body, and the bitterness of it wouldn't leave his tongue.

The shower he took was scalding hot but it seemed to burn the immediacy of the fresh, tormenting memories from him until the only phantom touches that remained on him were those of an emerald-skinned beauty; even the hot stream of water couldn't stop the goose bumps from rippling across his flesh at them and his fingers curled against the wet tile as a tension of a different nature filled him. Before long he was fumbling for the tap, twisting it until the water the rained over him was icy cold and his teeth were set on edge.

It was possible this was going to be harder than he thought.


	4. Chapter 3

Fiyero had forgotten how nice it was to dance and be gay without his every step having some sort of political implication. Galinda, as ever, was a sporting partner, talented in step as she was flawless in beauty, and he wasted the first hour away, simply relishing in the absentmindedness the music inspired.

The musician's slowed their tempo and while she peered up at him beseechingly, hoping for a kiss that once upon a time he had given to her, Fiyero took the opportunity suggest drinks. As they sipped their punch, people began parting as a frightening figure crossed the room. The instant Madame Morrible approached them he was edgy. Part of him wondered, knowing how powerful she was, that she would take one look at him and see that he didn't belong, but she hardly seemed to even notice him or his tension as she approached Galinda with that awful smile plastered on her face. He decided not to take a risk silently hung back as he listened to their exchange.

How he had taken the minute details for granted! He couldn't possibly have understood the implications of what Morrible said the first time he had heard them, not having known or cared who Galinda's roommate was or what generosity said roommate displayed when she had coerced the headmistress into including the blonde into her sorcery seminar. He could only imagine what Galinda was thinking as she stared at the brand-new wand after Morrible departed.

"What is it?"

"I got what I wanted…" she said pensively.

"Then what's the matter?"

A smile then lit up her face with false light, like that of a light bulb being switched on, and she said cheerily with a flourish of her wand, "Nothing."

He decided it best not to prod. He could be content knowing that hers and Elphaba's friendship was, in a way, destined, regardless of the details he didn't know.

"Then let's dance."

She giggled giddily as he spun her energetically around the dance floor. He couldn't contain himself; soon, he would be seeing his Elphaba and this world, this ridiculous time-travel, would no longer be so foreign and frustrating. The person that made his life make sense would be here and they could have a fresh start.

He wasn't sure how much time had gone by before he heard the telltale gasp of the crowd and the halt of the musicians that announced Elphaba's arrival. While everyone jeered and hissed and spoke crudely about her, Fiyero was entranced the moment his eyes found her. He cared not, as everyone else did, that she did not have on an elaborate dress, sparkling heels or have her hair pulled up into a fancy up-do; he didn't care how untraditional her skin was; in his mind, she was absolutely beautiful, even under that hideodeous hat that for a moment he forgot was it out-of-place.

The Ozdust disappeared around him. The lamps only existed to illuminate her. The sounds faded together. He rocked on his feet, the draw to her so utterly strong that he wasn't sure if he should give in to it or turn away, lest he did something regrettable.

"That's my roommate," Galinda whispered at his side, her voice tight as she gripped his arm. Her voice pulled him back into reality a little bit but not enough for him to remove his eyes. "Please, don't stare!"

"How can you help it?" he murmured, mesmerized.

She pulled off the conical hat then, and without the wide brim the bright lights of the Ozdust ignited her features, which were hard but still panicked as she stared around the room. Struck with intense déjà vu that seemed layered upon itself, he associated this first moment she came into his life with when he found her in the throne room with the Wizard and she seemed equally flustered at her sudden audience. And yet still, he felt faint with reoccurring memories and feelings of this exact moment, of bewilderment and intrigue, instinctual aversion and that deep, perplexing allure. She was green, after all. A green woman. A woman who was green. A woman with green skin. A kind of attractive woman with skin that was green.

After a moment her shrewd eyes closed and she smiled a wry, self-depreciating smile, for she seemed to comprehend she was the victim of a cruel practical joke. He wondered now why he had stayed the path; couldn't he have prevented this? It was breaking his heart. But when she finally looked up, Fiyero wanted to beam with approval when she defied everyone there by jamming the hat back on her head and entering the Ozdust anyway. _That_ was the Elphaba he loved, and he loved her more when she stomped her way to the floor, took a deep breath, and started to dance.

She was alone and there was absolutely no music, but she danced anyway, devoid of knowledge how to and in spite of everyone who could but didn't. She acted as though she didn't care at all what any of them said of her and he was so proud of her for that.

He remembered uttering something similar to Galinda that night, fascinated back then that this absolutely odd stranger could be so bold. He brought the words forward again, even though he was choked up on emotions the young Fiyero wouldn't have known how to feel: "She certainly doesn't give a twig what anyone else thinks."

"Of course she does," Galinda said feebly. "She just pretends not to. I feel awful…"

He didn't feel like asking why. He knew the answer. And just as it was supposed to happen, Galinda made her way through the crowd to Elphaba and joined her, setting the ball rolling on a friendship that would change all of their lives forever.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! I wasn't planning on posting anything this morning but today is my birthday and I decided what I wanted for my birthday was to share this next chapter with you! **

**Finally, Fiyero gets to speak with Elphaba! Who's excited?**

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When Galinda pulled Elphaba over to meet him, he was absolutely sure things were all going to be so much better this time around.

He was so wrong.

"Elphaba, have you met my _date_?" Galinda said cheerily, dragging her forward. "This is _Prince_ Fiyero Tiggular!"

"How do you do?" he said, the first genuine smile gracing his face since he and Elphaba had lain together in the forest. Was that only a couple days ago? It felt like it had been forever since then. He held out his hand for her, but Elphaba was reading him warily and avoided it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," she muttered back, as if it was anything but.

He refused to show his disappointment. "May I get you a drink, Miss Elphaba?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Perhaps, instead, you'll allow me this next dance?" he asked, once again offering her his hand hopefully, this time with a slight bow. She couldn't say no; no one ever said no. It was impossible for him to be any more of a gentleman.

"I'll pass," she said stubbornly. "I don't dance."

"If you don't mind me saying, you do dance; we just saw it. And it was quite lovely."

"You're mocking me?" she said with narrowed eyes.

"Not at all," he insisted. "I'm merely paying you a compliment."

A blush rose to her high cheekbones, but she did not smile. "Then I suppose I should say thank you."

"If you must," he teased. "So, you'll dance with me, yes?"

"No."

"Come on, it'll be fun! Slow song, fast song, whatever you choose."

"No!" she snapped, much to his displeasure. "Why are you being so persistent?"

"Why are you being so obstinate?"

"Fiyero, darling, I wouldn't mind another drink," Galinda said then, patting him on his heaving chest with a sweet smile and turning to an equally peeved Elphaba to gossip about him or her a few feet away, completely unbothered by their squabble. Fiyero gaped at Elphaba, unable to comprehend her immediate and very palpable distaste for him, and after a few long moments in which she avoided his eyes he sulked away to retrieve Galinda another beverage.

It would have been too good to be true if his lover approached him out of the blue, kissed him on the dance floor in front of everyone, and led him out of the Ozdust to live happily ever after; he knew because the fantasy had been tormenting him all day. As he stupidly lumbered away to find a waiter with punch, Fiyero came to the easy conclusion that Elphaba did not recognize him in any way, which wasn't truly a surprise. On the other hand, he came to absolutely _outrageous_ conclusion that she didn't, in fact, seem attracted to him _at all_, which he absolutely had not been anticipating.

He was flummoxed. Baffled. Bewildered. He knew he always had the tendency to think a little highly of himself at times, but this wasn't something he doubted after the last few days with Elphaba. _She had liked him too_.

Fiyero carried on. He was an expert at letting everyone believe he was always happy. He danced with Galinda some more. He even invited Nessarose to dance, with Boq's permission. He bought a round of drinks for them all, only to find Elphaba had refused hers.

He was running out of ideas. He wanted her attention. But no, in the short amount of time she stayed before she and Galinda left together, she visited with her sister and Boq and Galinda and everyone, it seemed, but him. And after she left, he brooded and let the bartender pour him a couple of well-needed shots of Vinkun liquor—on the house, he had said: the first in turn for bringing in the business and the second because Fiyero looked like he needed it.


	6. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all of the birthday wishes, everyone! And sorry for not posting sooner; I've been terribly preoccupied with a new job.**

**But let's not think of such things. Let's think about our handsome swain! ****Poor Fiyero. Things didn't work out like he expected with Elphaba at the dance, did they?**

* * *

He was in a foul mood by the time he returned from the Ozdust that night. The party wound down well past midnight and he saw it out if only because it took more effort than it was worth to remove himself from his seat after his fourth shot of the strong Vinkun-distilled drink the barkeep had chosen for him. He took a few minutes of the evening to hate himself for this relapse into such habits; even when he was with the Gale Force he limited his alcohol intake to only a couple of pints of draft. He had grown up, he had surmised—_changed. _But there he sat, sporting a healthy buzz, watching the liveliness of those enjoying the prime of their lives as he once had while buying anyone a drink who had enough daring to approach the prince and initiate idle chit-chat.

The Three Queens district, where the Ozdust was located, seemed to sparkle regardless of the hour. Fiyero lingered on the Three Queens' bridge and admired how the lanterns strung across its length made the dark canal water underneath it glimmer with a mesmerizing allure. Elphaba's eyes looked like that after he had first kissed her, Fiyero thought pathetically, tossing a coin from his pocket into the depths to agitate the surface. And _that_ was how her eyes looked tonight.

He had forgotten to eat that afternoon, having been too worked up all day to think about getting a meal in his stomach, which was why four small glasses of liquor (plus a hearty mug of porter) had him shuffling home along the banks of the canal feeling lousy. At least there was no one around, allowing him some solace after an evening of social pressure and sensory stimulation.

By the time he reached St. Proud's Square, he could see the large shadow that was Crage Hall and the young, drunken brain he was stuck with began pulling him there, wanting to knock on the roommates' door, confront Elphaba, and ask her why she had rejected him.

It wasn't as though he didn't understand. He just was unwilling to accept things as they were. He was so beyond Shiz and flirting and these stupid formal parties. He was tired and angry and full of self-pity. It was possible too that he would have broken into Crage Hall if not for the fact that Elphaba would have been sleeping, and the idea of disturbing her in a moment of peace was sobering after everything her counterpart had been through. So he just went home.

He didn't really sleep. It wasn't for a lack of trying. A couple of times he nearly nodded off but then the memories of the soldier's attack had him staring widely at the dark ceiling with his heart running a mile a minute. Then he would try to think about Elphaba as he had done for so long after she disappeared from the Wizard's palace, but instead of drifting off to thoughts about where she was, if she was okay, and whether or not she returned his feelings, he pouted about how she was a few hundred feet away and how she hadn't given him the time of day.

He gave up by the time light started filling the early-morning sky. Sunrise prompted a desire to run, as had become his habit in the Emerald City, and after finding a well-worn pair of shoes in the bottom of his trunk and a pair of shorts he set off around campus. The cold morning air was refreshing against the bare skin of his chest and arms but beyond a mile left his lungs burning; angrily, he pushed his body forward, past the pain. Just because this body was weak and lazy didn't mean his mind was, and he had no tolerance for his poor condition. When he reached the dewy grass outside of the dorms, he collapsed, breathless, watching the sky as the last of the stars faded from view.

Because his younger counterpart was an idiot and wanted to arrive to his newest school fashionably late, he had gotten in on a Friday. Which meant Fiyero had two days before he would have another natural opportunity to see Elphaba again. Two whole, long, miserable days of uncertainty and frustration.

He had made the decision he wouldn't seek her out. If he learned anything by watching Boq and other boys like him, it was that zealousness was a turn-off. He also was at a loss about how to approach her. Maybe he could use his brainlessness to convince her to tutor him or his princeliness to arrange a marriage with her? He dropped face-first into his pillow upon arrival in his room again and punched the fluff repeatedly, like a child having a fit, hating himself for even thinking of something so dim-witted.

He had decided it best not to inform her of his situation, for what could it do but put her ill-at-ease? Why would a young, optimistic girl want to hear about the horrors that would befall her and those about whom she cared? How could he shatter her dreams and any hope for the future? And if he did, to what end did he expect? She had a rebellious, distrustful nature and a temper.

Fiyero had the tendency to be stupid at times, but he was not _that _stupid.

He still had until semester's end before she would be summoned to the Emerald City for an audience with the Wizard. He had a chance to start over with her, to do things right, to remedy all of his regrets at Shiz. So he would be patient. _Again._


	7. Chapter 6

Midday Saturday found him in Railway Square with bags of heavy textbooks and various odds and ends for his dorm he'd need if he indeed was to relive his school year. After spotting Galinda's golden head glinting amidst a healthy lunch crowd at one of the more popular cafés, he had half a mind to avoid her. But she was smiling and laughing as she had been known to do and his heart panged at the sight, for it had been far too long since he had seen her so carefree. Before he knew it he was at her table, winking down at Pfannee, Shenshen and Milla.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all!" Galinda said, her eyes sparkling as he spun a chair around and dropped in it so his forearms were on its back. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Quite. Hello, ladies," he said politely to her friends, even though he hated them all.

"I do hope you all had the opportunity to be acquainted at the party last night."

"Briefly," Fiyero mentioned, and deciding to show off he recited with just a hint of doubt, "Milla, Pfannee and Shenshen, right?"

"Very good!" Galinda said, impressed, applauding joyously at his memory. "We had all just been talking about how enjoyable the evening had been and how we must make it a thing to do."

"Absolutely," he responded appropriately, not really caring.

He vaguely wondered if Galinda had invited her newest friend out to tea and sandwiches with the girls; no doubt Elphaba would have scoffed at the suggestion as much as Phannee and Shenshen would have feigned nausea.

"It looks like you've been out shopping," Galinda noted, flawlessly moving along the conversation.

He spied his two overfilled bags at his feet and decided it best, given the company, not to admit they were mostly filled with books. "Yes. In my hurry to leave my last school it seemed that I had forgotten my favorite comb…"

Their predictable sympathy was satisfying and entertaining. "Oh dear!" they cried, and Galinda covered his hand with her own tiny one in a gesture of emotional support. "Let's get you some tea," she suggested considerately and flagged down a waiter.

Before long the other girls departed, off to salon appointments or whatever engagements succeeded lunch, leaving Galinda and himself alone. He asked her countless questions of which he already knew the answers and brought up subjects he knew were of interest to her, like architecture and sorcery. His heart swelled every time her eyes lit up; he truly did love her, he knew, but not as he did Elphaba. Rather than compare them, he found contentedness in just enjoying her company for a while, and it wasn't until only the dregs remained that he finally inquired about her roommate.

"If you're asking me why she's green, I do not have an answer for you," she said. "Though there have been many interesting theories…"

"I don't care about that," Fiyero said, waving a hand as if to brush the topic away. "I found her to be quite…enigmatic."

"She's a difficult thing, isn't she?" Galinda mused, but mildly. "Always with her nose in a book. At one point in the beginning of the semester we had managed three weeks without a social nicety. Oh, I was as much to blame, but we've warmed up to each other now. She can actually be quite charming, in her own way."

"She didn't seem to like me."

"That's just Elphaba. I'm sure she'll come around in no time, now that we're friends. I've taken her on as a project of sorts." Galinda perked up then. "Ooh, let me show you the things I bought for her today…"

* * *

In the evening, while he had been lounging across a sofa in one of Briscoe Hall's studies flipping through a newspaper he had found in town that day, many of the boys from the dorm came rambling, rattling through the halls, banging on doors of friends. "We're off to the _pub_," they chanted. "Come on out!" Spying Fiyero stretched across the furniture, it was inevitable that he would be their next target.

He decided to go, to enjoy their joie de vivre, to forget his woes by regressing into that carefree young man whose body he possessed, but then he discovered the spectacle down at The Boar and Fennel was that of a Kumbric Witch performing. While they laughed at, toasted to, and objectified the witch, Fiyero watched on in discomfort and anger, for it reminded him too much of the rowdy shows bars would put on in the Emerald City with tawdry women with green-painted faces. He wanted to be sick. He snuck out the back when no one was looking and returned to his room, absolutely exhausted.

His head hit the pillow and he was out in moments. He slept almost all of Sunday away.

* * *

**He needs his sleep to be in prime form for when he sees Elphaba in the morning to make up for the other night. :) How do you think their next interaction will go?**


	8. Chapter 7

It was truly sad how much he had been looking forward to going to class Monday morning. He actually had sat on the edge of his bed fully dressed, watching the second hand slowly tick around his clock until it was a reasonable time to go—_that's_ how pathetic he was. But he didn't care.

Elphaba had narrowly beaten him to the classroom, judging by how she was still hovering over her chair with her hands and attention buried deep within her shoulder bag. Fiyero slipped into the row of desks behind her and picked a spot just a couple of seats off from the one held by her notebook. Stretching out his long legs as much as he could in the narrow aisle, Fiyero watched her dig through her bag and smiled at her cutely furrowed brow.

"Need a pencil?"

She jumped, startled, placing a green hand on the navy-blue strap of her frock over her heart as she glared at him. Clearly she hadn't been expecting anyone to be so close.

"Master Fiyero," she greeted formally, glaring at him with those blazing eyes.

He grinned, holding up a pencil of his own. "I have one. Don't plan on using it."

"Why am I not surprised?" she asked, but chose to ignore him in favor of looking through her bag once more.

He let his hand linger out towards her anyway, determined to be as stubborn as she was, until she finally retrieved her loose writing instrument and took her seat. Then, to be annoying, he tapped the rubber end against his small wooden writing surface, to rub in what could have been avoided had she simply accepted his gesture.

He could see the tension building in her back the longer she tried to ignore his continual drumming. She was trying not to react to his goading, it seemed, which only made his game that much more interesting. Just to mix it up, he started changing up the beat, putting in random pauses of different lengths and watched with a smile as she twitched in aggravation. After one particularly long pause, he had tapped the pencil against the desk once more and she finally snapped.

"I imagine that the seats in the back of the classroom would be more to your liking," she said, flipping around in her seat to stare at him.

"Why? Isn't this where the smart kids sit?" he asked innocently.

She was fuming. "What do you want?"

"Why didn't you dance with me?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded, probably trying to determine his level of seriousness—which to him was a shameless 100%. He waited patiently.

"I told you," she answered finally. "I don't dance."

"That's not an excuse. Even your sister danced with me."

"My sister—" she began heatedly, but then to Fiyero's fascination she stopped and seemed to be evaluating him. Her eyes glinted as she propped her chin on a fist. "I get it. You're just upset that I didn't respond to your charms."

"I…" began his defensive retort, but she was right and he was man enough to admit it. "Well, yes."

"Ah." Her eyes crinkled with laughter at him, which would have been delightful if it hadn't been at his expense. "Next time I'll try to be more amenable to them, Your Highness."

He was about to banter back when the teacher entered the room, Dr. Dillamond, the infamous Goat whose dismissal from the University spurred a great deal of changes to his circle of friends. He only had a few weeks of classes with the renowned biology professor before Dr. Nikidik replaced him, and most of the time he slept through these morning lectures.

By the time he looked back down at Elphaba she had already turned back around in her seat, finding her place in her lecture notes as Dr. Dillamond did the same with his. When class started a minute later, Fiyero merely sat back and listened, finding the address to be more informative than he expected.

Still, he found his concentration drifting as the lecture went on, because no matter how brilliant the old Goat was there was only so much he could care about tiny organisms and such, especially on his first day back. At least his distraction was as equally educational, for Elphaba's hand shot up in the air frequently to ask a question or pursue a point. Sometimes she succeeded in redirecting his attention back to the front, but other times…well, other times he forgot to look away from her again.

She was left-handed, he noticed, as if she wasn't odd enough, which meant that while he couldn't see what notes she was writing from his angle he had a great view of her other hand. It played with her braid as she listened, twirling the thick ends of her hair around and around with a long finger. Fiyero began to feel a little envious of that finger after a while, for her hair was indeed lovely to play with. It was like black silk. Coffee spun into threads. Night rain.

Her older version was entrancing, yes, but in the years since Shiz her features became far sharper, her color duller, and her eyes wearier and warier. The hands he had gotten to hold in his own had been bony and her body had seemed frail in his arms. But the Elphaba that sat in front of him, while still slender, had this robustness that was exuded in her every movement; the lines of her face and body were softer, more inviting to his eyes and his hands, which itched to feel them; and her eyes were both assiduous and adorably naïve behind her thin glasses.

She seemed so happy and healthy on the whole. And he was glad that even if he hadn't seen _his_ Elphaba to a good place again, that he at least got to see _an_ Elphaba at peace. Relatively. Every now and again she'd peek furtively over her braid at him and he'd see that piercing gaze for just a moment, and as they'd flash away he'd smile into the pencil he ended up chewing on.

"You're staring," she finally said when class was dismissed. She had stood to pack her things and now that she was facing him, he was getting the full force of her glare.

Needless to say, he loved it.

"And?"

"And I wish you wouldn't. It makes me uncomfortable."

"If it makes you feel better, it's not for the reason you think."

"And what is it I think?"

He grinned at her bait. He wouldn't go near that question with a ten-foot Munchkin, so instead he said, "I was thinking about that hat you wore to the Ozdust," which probably wasn't much better.

Indeed it wasn't, for it put her on edge. "What about it?"

"It suited you nicely," he said, and she scowled in confusion. Complimenting her was fun. "I simply wonder if it's more of an outdoor accessory."

"Oh, is that why everyone was gawping at me so?" she wondered sarcastically, shoving her notebook in her bag with unnecessary force. "How enlightening. It was merely a fashion faux pas."

"Perhaps they were ogling in envy at how well you pulled it off."

She scoffed at that and made to flee the room, but Fiyero leapt over the row of desks below and trailed behind her.

"This class was excellent. How unique that a professor like Dr. Dillamond can teach such dissimilar courses."

"Excuse me?"

"Life Sciences _and_ History," he said in impressed voice. "I have him again tomorrow afternoon. I can't wait."

She froze in place in disbelief, for as he knew she had both classes as well, and he waved merrily as he walked away, leaving her stunned in the hustle and bustle of the hallway. He smiled. He couldn't ever remember being excited for history class before.


	9. Chapter 8

Having felt like he had worked Elphaba up enough to last for a couple of days, Fiyero decided to sit by Boq in their history class the next day and give her a break. Galinda spotted him and sat on his other side, which he was fine with, and her girlfriends followed, which he wasn't fine with. Boq was fidgety in his seat from being so close to Galinda, and Nessarose sat serenely in her chair in the aisle with a hand tucked daintily in the crook of the Munchkin's elbow, her eyes closed as if praying.

It was just like old times.

Except this time, there was a certain green girl. As Galinda had dragged her over, Elphaba had the amusing choice to either sit between Galinda and Fiyero (which the blonde probably wouldn't have allowed despite the option) or Galinda and Pfannee, so naturally she chose neither. Instead, she filed into the row in front of them all, past where Fiyero had his legs propped up, and chose the chair at the end of the aisle, closest to Nessarose. Fiyero's smile must have stretched ear to ear as she dropped her bag into a seat one row in front of him and one chair down, positioned just as she had been the day before, and she rolled her eyes markedly.

Dr. Dillamond's lecture was that of the mining in Quadling Country, only just years before, of how men from the north drained the badlands to seek out ruby deposits.

"It never worked, of course," Elphaba said, not needing to project too much as she was only a few rows back behind her normal seat. "There never were enough rubies to make it worth the effort."

"You're right," Dillamond said. "The lands were despoiled and the Quadlings were rounded up in settlement camps 'for their own protection' and starved. The drought, after a few reprieves, continued unabated and Animals had begun to be recalled to the lands of their ancestors, a ploy to give the farmers a sense of control over _something_. It was a systematic marginalizing of populations."

"This is so depressing," Galinda grumbled, her pen lifting from the "s" in "populations" to draw hearts on the corner of her paper.

Boq raised his hand. "As a Munchkin farmer I want to disagree on principal, but crop production in the Corn Basket still suffers as a result of the dry soil. The Animals' presence does little to change that."

Elphaba spoke up again. "Perhaps a better campaign than seeking rubies would have been to build a canal system to run the legendary water in the Vinkus into Munchkinland."

"Perhaps that can still be arranged," Fiyero called out. The entire auditorium leaned forward in their seats to look their way at his interjection, but the only face he cared about was the one just to the front and right of him. Her stunned expression had him smiling smugly.

"Ahhh," the old Goat brayed, clapping his hooves together. "Behold, students, a moment of real diplomacy: the daughter of Munchkinland's governor and the crowned prince of the Vinkus, proposing progress between their two nations! What a splendid opportunity to witness history being made."

Fiyero had to wonder who was more embarrassed after that, Elphaba or her sister, for it was Nessarose who would inherit the Bread Basket of Oz despite birth order and political interest. Fiyero was willing to bank on the younger sister, given how quickly she departed for the powder room after class, Galinda and her giggling groupies in tow. Elphaba declined the invitation to accompany them, not being one for powder, and disappeared in a flurry of green fingers before any more could be said.

"You seem to be quite taken with Miss Elphaba," Boq commented as they left. "You couldn't take your eyes off of her."

"Oh. Well, you know—green," he said as way of an excuse, one with which Boq couldn't argue.

"I should go find Nessa," he said instead. He didn't act as though he wanted to. "I promised to take her out for coffee after class."

"You know, you can be a nice guy and still be happy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Boq mumbled, avoiding his eye.

"Yes you do. You're not doing Nessa any favors if your heart is elsewhere." And as he and only he knew, he would lose that heart entirely if he kept up the charade. "Trust me."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

Fiyero laughed mirthlessly, thinking of Glinda. "More than you know. " Glinda, Nessarose, Boq, Elphaba, himself… All of their pain and loneliness and doubts could have been avoided had everyone just been honest. "It's best to nip those things in the bud before they get out of control. That's when people truly get hurt."

Boq nodded contemplatively. "Perhaps you're right."

With that, Boq bade him farewell and Fiyero traipsed past his literature classroom, lost in his thoughts.


	10. Chapter 9

**I thought I'd give you guys another small chapter to make up for the long break between Chapters 7 and 8. RL has been a pain lately: first I got pretty sick for a couple of weeks then when I got better and just started catching up on everything my dad ended up in the hospital for a few days. He's fine now but I'm behind on everything again. If any non-adults are reading this, do yourself a favor and stop aging while you still have a chance! Things are as tough as our parents promised on the other side lol.**

* * *

Never before had Fiyero outwardly expressed any interest in his throne. His comment in history class about the potential to construct a trans-Ozian canal just came blurting out of his mouth and had struck him as substantial if only because it seemed so natural at the time. And while it was said in a flippant tone he was completely serious.

Rumination of this revelation and nightmares of brutality and crucifixion in a cornfield lead to another restless night. After waking up sweating and trembling in twisted up sheets, Fiyero tried to focus his blurry vision on the dark face of his clock. There still a couple hours of darkness left before dawn, and though he tried to roll over and fall back asleep, his lurid dream left him filled with the aftereffects of adrenaline and sleep would not come.

Grabbing a discarded shirt and pair of slacks from the floor, he dressed and went to his window, hoping the fresh breeze from outside would cool his clammy body, but it did little to soothe his soul. Sometimes he felt trapped by his private suite, as though the nightmares with which he was plagued were trapped in the space along with all of the memories of his regrets after Elphaba had vanished into infamy, and tonight was one of those times.

Feeling daring, Fiyero climbed onto his windowsill and, using the water spout bolted securely to the brick outside, scaled the few feet up to the roof and swung himself onto the ledge above his room. The effort was well worth it. He stretched across the slightly inclined surface and felt a little freer, as though his mind was finally starting to feel more comfortable with his body now that it too was in a place that existed just a little bit separate from Shiz.

The stars seemed to shimmer down on him with an ethereal radiance as he stared at them, scanning the heavens for familiar constellations and brief streaks of light amongst the fixed specks. The night sky never seemed so beautiful in the Emerald City, but even the view from his dorm was nothing compared to that of the Vinkus. Elphaba had watched those stars through the forest canopy, Fiyero remembered, as she lay awake in his arms. He wondered if astronomy had been of particular interest to her or if the stars became a comfort to her in her years on the run, something constant and stable in an otherwise chaotic world.

In choosing her as he had done, he had given up everything without a second thought: his job, his reputation, his home, his possessions, his family and, consequently, his throne. Now that it was all back again, he was thinking about them in new light.

Part of Fiyero's passivity on his royal responsibilities was in that the Vinkus was rather self-sustainable. A great deal of the country's wealth was used merely in a defense that wasn't necessary, given the mountainous landscape and lack of interest. The Wizard could not see much value in their dry desert. So Oz left them alone and they left Oz alone.

What if he was able to use the power he had always neglected for the greater good that Elphaba herself had never been able to achieve in her resistance movements? A canal alone from the Vinkus could offer his country incredible leverage.

Another part of Fiyero's neglect of his crown had to do with his immaturity. He didn't want to care, so he didn't. But he wasn't that boy anymore, and without the obligations set for him as Captain of the Guard or as Glinda's arm candy, he was free to focus on his other responsibilities. It wasn't as scary anymore, although it was still intimidating.

The next day, he sought out one of the law teachers and requested a transfer into his class, finding one that fit into his schedule in place of his Oz-awful literature class on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons. (How often does one need to analyze the Oziad anyway?) He would begin the subsequent week.


	11. Chapter 10

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews everyone! Every single one makes me smile. :)  
**

* * *

The following Saturday he found himself in Railway Square again, having lunch with Galinda Upland once more. He had made the trip to buy the three new textbooks he would need for his new law class – all of which seemed as dull and verbose as expected – and had found her once again sipping tea with her girlfriends. This time she had spotted him first and had called him over; apparently they had just ordered sandwiches to accompany their tea and so should he, and given his rather neglected stomach over the past week he was more than happy to oblige their request. When Pfannee and Shenshen prepared to leave, he grabbed the bill before anyone could protest and paid for all of them.

"That's so good of you," they had said predictably, thanking him and leaving himself and Galinda alone once more.

They chatted about their weeks. Well, Galinda did most of the talking, telling him excitedly about all about her new sorcery seminar, but Fiyero was more than happy to take the backseat in any conversation nowadays. After all, as far as anyone else knew, the last two and a half years of his life never happened.

"And then I tried to make Elphie's sandwich levitate, but all that happened was that it exploded all over her."

"Was she mad about that?"

"Not at all!" Galinda said, laughing. "She just picked off the shredded carrots and chopped olives and mayonnaise and ate it. It was disgusting!"

"How droll," Fiyero commented with a smile. "I hope she didn't have to walk around with bits of food on her the rest of the day."

"Oh no, fortunately Morrible sent her home early. It's not as though she needs the extra help."

"She seems very intelligent."

"Annoyingly so. But I love her anyway."

"I'm still determined to befriend her," Fiyero said, and Galinda's eyes brightened in hilarity.

"Oh yes I've heard. You've got her wound up tighter than I've ever seen her! We were talking about you and before I knew it she was up pacing the room—"

"You were talking about me, eh?" he teased, and to his surprise Galinda actually blushed—she never blushed!

"We were merely concerned for your acclimatization here at Shiz," Galinda sputtered. "Not that there is any reason to be."

"I'm doing quite well, thank you," he said, putting her at ease again so she could refocus on her roommate. "I doubt Elphaba was quite as concerned for my wellbeing as you."

"I imagine not. But how she would pace! Cursing and marching around, her arms wheeling about like windmill sails… You've gotten under her skin, Master Fiyero."

"Is that unusual?"

"Quite," Galinda said, sipping the last of her tea stylishly. "Thank you for lunch. Let's plan on doing this again next week, shall we?"

And she got up, off to some prior engagement, and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek, allowing the feeling of her soft lips to loiter on his skin and the overly familiar scent of her perfume to fill his nostrils, before departing with her stunning smile, a delightful wave, and a perfect flip of her hair. He didn't even pay attention; he was too busy grinning from ear-to-ear, trying to figure out why he was so happy to piss of the woman who, in a different time, would be the fearsome, formidable Wicked Witch of the West.


	12. Chapter 11

"Good afternoon, Miss Nessarose."

Upon arriving to his law class the next Tuesday, he was only mildly surprised to see the young Thropp parked in an aisle, her head bowed deferentially, waiting for the instructor to begin. He knew the subject had been one of her focuses at Shiz, but the fact that they shared a class was a happy coincidence.

When he greeted her, she turned her head up and smiled warmly to him.

"Master Fiyero!" she said, indicating the seat next to her, which he gladly took. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Please, call me Fiyero."

"As long as you call me Nessa."

"If you insist."

"What are you doing here?" she inquired amiably, her hands folded over her books in her lap.

"I made adjustments to my schedule. Truthfully, the prospect of sitting in Ozian Literature for the rest of the semester was a traumatic one."

Her laugh was contained and docile, as though she had trained to it to be so as to always remain polite. It differed so greatly from Elphaba's delicious cackle and he didn't find that he preferred it. "I'm not sure you'll find this class any more entertaining."

"At least I'll have you here to help keep me awake," he said, winking charmingly at her. Her pale cheeks filled with blood at his flirtation and it made him think about how taken she was with Boq. Despite her undeniable beauty, it was clear she didn't receive much attention from men. It certainly countered the claim that men looked down upon women, for it seemed that so many didn't see poor Nessarose at all.

He didn't get much of a chance to talk with her anymore, as the teacher quieted them all down to begin his lecture. Nessa had been right to imply that this class was boring, but he listened anyway, determined to learn what he could. Sometimes he was confused when the teacher referenced past notes from previous classes, but Nessa was obliging, kindly filling him in with gentle whispers.

By the end of the short hour, as he escorted Nessa back to her room in the faculty housing, his head felt fuzzy, as though the monotonous drone he had just lived through had put his brain to sleep. But he felt good about himself nonetheless, for not only was he on a better, more constructive path for his personal life than he had been before, but he also had a chance to be better acquainted with Nessarose Thropp. And maybe, just maybe, having another friend in her life could prevent the string of events that would eventually lead to her objectionable treatment of her countrymen. Being the idealist that he was, he didn't even like to believe that her demise would even be possible. After all, even the slightest wind could move a raindrop's trajectory by miles.


	13. Chapter 12

Fiyero didn't really remember having so much schoolwork and studying expected of him so soon after starting Shiz the first time. Of course, that was probably because he didn't really care the first time. Fiyero had finally managed to graduate from university though, which meant that sometime between when he originally transferred to Shiz and that glorious graduation day, he actually had given his classes enough attention in order to pass.

Such habits carried over, it seemed, for though it was only the second week into his semester personally, the rest of Shiz was already a third of the way through theirs and he was expected, as they were, to write papers and prepare for exams, so that was what he did. As he began his first paper – one for Dr. Dillamond's class, of course, for the old Goat was famous for his excessive essay assignments – consciously utilizing proper format and citations, he stopped for a minute and considered the change. He never even bothered to write the paper on the Animal Courtesy Acts last time; he remembered thinking about writing the paper, but then the night before it was due he went out exploring Shiz's night life instead, having decided that was a better use of his valuable time.

Even if Fiyero didn't already know an absurd amount about this particular Ozian law, he probably would have attempted the paper anyway and maybe he would have done an all-right job. But Fiyero Tiggular had been Captain of the Emerald City Guard, not to mention absolutely lovesick over Oz's resident rebel-with-a-cause, so he practically had the Animal Courtesy Acts memorized.

The Animal Courtesy Acts were just the Animal Adverse laws, given a positive political moniker for the sake of propaganda. Social unrest deriving from the Great Drought promoted an atmosphere of scapegoating and hysterical patriotism, which lead to the discrimination that was firmly established in sugarcoated legislative bills. Even as Fiyero considered the assignment before him, he knew that the Wizard was the one who shrewdly worded the dense legislation to conceal his underlying motivations, but that wasn't supposed to be common knowledge and thus wouldn't be included in his final draft.

There was a great deal that Fiyero knew that he shouldn't. Scandalacious princes didn't know the Wizard was a fraud; they didn't know military strategies, the layouts of government buildings, or the secrets of Southstairs. When in doubt around people, Fiyero acted oblivious. It seemed safest. Nevertheless, he wouldn't allow everything he had experienced and learned to be in vain. He had taken to making lists in the middle of the night when names and dates would come to him and doodling diagrams of the Emerald Palace in the back of his notebooks at all hours, even during class, which was in fact what he was doing when Dr. Dillamond asked Elphaba to hand out their graded history essays.

Not that Elphaba noticed what he was doing. She was fairly competent at avoiding giving him any attention at all the last two weeks. She refused to raise her opinion of him on the basis of his charm alone, which was disappointing, but the 93% mark at the top of his paper evidently left her flabbergasted; she hadn't expected such a grade out of him. He smiled broadly as the paper was shoved at him, and she simply furrowed her brow and hurried away to dispense the rest. And the smile remained after that, not because of the great grade, but because he had a feeling that it had left an impression.


	14. Chapter 13

**Apologies to RavenCurls who is dying because Fiyero and Elphaba aren't really talking yet and to all of the other Fiyeraba diehards waiting so patiently out there. This chapter will not save your life. But it might make you smile?**

* * *

While half the dorm went out to drink and party, something Fiyero had once done in spades, Fiyero started to spend his nights in playing games or studying with Boq and a couple of his friends from the Three Queens dorms who were consistently good for capricious conversations, esoteric references, and bawdy blather. Fiyero had always been able to count on Tibbett and Crope for a good time and to be just arch enough around Boq to make things entertaining.

"Why do you even have these cards?" Fiyero asked the boys, holding up his useless hand. The deck had pictures of mostly naked women on them, and while he was old enough and experienced enough not to be offended by it, Boq had been doing his best all game not to seem flustered by the lingerie-clad figures under his fingers.

"We still admire the female form!" Tibbett said, taking the card and inspecting the lewd picture. "Look at her, she seems so happy."

"I'm starting to believe that you have no appreciation for women."

Fiyero scoffed at Crope. "You must be joking."

"The only thing more interesting than seeing you oblivious to how the girls have been throwing themselves at you is hearing them whine about it later. '_Oh Fiyero, he's so dreamy, why won't he give me a chance…'_"

"And for whatever reason girls love to tell us everything that's wrong in their lives."

"They tend to regret it until they get drunk again."

Tibbett leaned forward on his arms and batted his eyelashes at Fiyero humorously. "So is the prince really a _queen_?"

"We won't be upset if you are. On the contrary…"

"What we'd give for an opportunity to see if what they say about Winkie men is true! …_If you know what I'm saying_."As if he didn't, Tibbitt glanced down to Fiyero's crotch, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Fiyero snorted at him and made a mental note to wear looser pants in their presence, for they seemed to give his anatomy far more thought than was necessary.

"Leave the lad alone," Boq said.

They acted offended. "We are simply interested in the physical wellbeing of our new friend!"

"I appreciate your concern," Fiyero said, chuckling merrily, simply enjoying the simple enjoyment of their youth. "Trust that if I did fancy boys, you two would be my first choices."

"Not Boq? But why, he's ripe as a peach!"

"Downright luscious."

"Oh, but he's _taken_!" Tibbett remembered. "How are things with Miss Nessa?"

"They're fine," he said curtly, as if to discourage their teasing on such a subject.

Crope took the hint – they were always good about backing off Boq when necessary – and refocused the attention on the prince.

"So, tell us Master Fiyero, on a scale of Boq to Tibbett, just how virginal are you?"

"Why don't you deal the cards again and if you win I'll tell you?" Fiyero said. He made sure not to lose a hand the rest of the night.


	15. Chapter 14

**And here, a reward for your patience :)**

* * *

Crope and Tibbett were right. Fiyero had been too focused on Elphaba to really notice, but Galinda wasn't the only girl fixated on him. After the two boys pointed it out, Fiyero started noticing more and more his strange interactions with the other women around campus that were also increasing in determination the more settled he became. So many of them he never knew, others he barely remembered, and all of them seemed determined to engage him in conversation. Or have him pick up their dropped books. Or ask him dumb questions about lectures.

It wasn't so big of a deal at first. But the problem with noticing their attention was that it encouraged more of it.

"Fiyero!" a voice he didn't know called out coquettishly the moment as he entered the hallway from his Life Science class. His stomach was growling, he had a headache, and all he could think about was getting a large beef sandwich from the refectory in his gut, but it seemed that wasn't in the cards for him. He turned with a cool smile at the beautiful Gillikinese woman gliding towards him through the dispersal of students.

He did recognize her. She was in his new law class. She had introduced herself and engaged in hollow chitchat just the previous week, and while her burgundy hair and her caramel brown eyes should have enraptured him, he remembered instead being fixated on her crooked front tooth and wondering if it was because she sucked on her thumb as a child. In hindsight, he probably should have made more of an effort to learn her name. He was as bad as Galinda at that.

"What a pleasant surprise," the woman said to him, sliding a hand around his bare upper arm as she reached him. He could feel her fingertips sneak under the hem of his sleeve to massage the muscles there. "Just get out of class?"

"Biology," he said reactively, too distracted by her nervy grip to think about his words. He would have chosen anything in the world besides "biology" if he knew how her eyes would light up and how her hand would slide up even further in his sleeve until it was wrapped securely around his bicep.

"What a great subject. I _love_ studying biology. Are you doing anything right now? I was thinking that maybe we could grab a quick drink. Maybe in my room. We can talk all about biology if you want…"

Sweet Oz_._ It was obvious that she was more interested with studying _his_ biology in all of its structure and function and whatnot than anything Dr. Dillamond had to teach. Fiyero wasn't sure this was really happening. It certainly never happened the last time around; barely any girls engaged him at all because of his relationship with their queen bee.

The tightening of his stomach must have been what caused all the blood to rush into his head so fast, as though it all had been squeezed upward like paint from a tube, and it was the excess of blood that made him stupidly stammer, "Uh, a-a drink, so early in the day?"

A thin eyebrow arched up and a wide smile spread across her face. "Yes. Why Fiyero, it's almost as if you've never done anything naughty before, and we both know that's just not true."

It may have been true years ago, but it certainly wasn't anymore. "Ah, yes, well…"

She stepped even closer to him and her other hand spread flat against his abdomen. That squeezing sensation reached his lungs, and as her hands slithered up against the buttons of his shirt so did the tightening he felt until even his esophagus was restricted, leaving his mouth hanging open without any sounds except an occasional manly choking sound.

He was little better than prey, trapped in a stone hallway full of indifferent students. No, Fiyero thought wildly, these were science students who, if they noticed his situation at all, saw it like an act of nature – the female in heat, selecting her mate – or, even more likely, watched on in envy.

"I promise, it'll be a drink you will _never _forget."

"Oh."

"So, what do you say?" she said, her fingers toying with his top button before slipping into where the material parted at his neck to tickle his skin.

"That's…" he said, his voice strangled. He cleared his throat. "That's quite an offer."

"It is," she said, and she said something else but just then Elphaba's perfect voice was all he heard as she thanked Dr. Dillamond behind him. Well, that, and the sound of his internal voice keenly acknowledging the Unnnamed God for her timing.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he told the woman quickly, spinning around in time to catch Elphaba's wrist in his own and yank her over. She yelped in surprise but before she could screech at him he said, "Elphaba and I have to work on a project. Was Dr. Dillamond able to give you the guidelines we need?"

"_What_?" Elphaba asked, but he stared at her with big, pleading eyes. He was so grateful for her intelligence, because she read his face quickly and rearranged her own features accordingly. "Oh, yes. He outlined everything we need. For our project."

He didn't think it was possible, but at that moment he was more in love with her than ever.

"You're working with the _grasshopper_?" she sneered.

"Uh, who?" he said with faux confusion, though his blood boiled at the cruelty. "You don't mean Elphaba, do you?"

He had to admire her persistence: "Come on, Fiyero. Wouldn't you rather study biology with _me_?"

"You're welcome to join us for lunch," he said, as though it was a great idea. "I'm sure you'll have some great ideas for our assignment."

"Perhaps another time, Fiyero."

She stepped away, her fingers lingering possessively on Fiyero's shirt until she turned away, shooting Elphaba a horribly disdainful look over her shoulder as she did so. He was sure his mouth was still hanging open by the time she met up with her friends at the end of the corridor.

"You can let go of me now."

The chilliness of Elphaba's tone made him spin about stupidly. "Oh." He released her wrist. He must have been holding it tightly but she showed no indication of pain as she pulled it back to her side. "Sorry."

"What was that?"

"An explanation to get away from her. I think I panicked a little," Fiyero admitted, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Oh please. Did they put you up to this?" Elphaba asked, shooting a look down to the gaggle of girls lingering in the hallway to watch them.

"No…" Fiyero's hungry stomach twisted even more as he noticed her temper start flaring up.

"Did they bet you money to get near to me?"

"Nuh uh."

"Is this the setup for a prank at my expense?"

"Nope."

"Perhaps this is simply so you can go back to them and give them a good laugh about your experiences here, like Galinda has done by dressing me up in those hats. Go on, tell them how prickly I am."

"That woman _legitimately_ invaded my personal space and I needed an out. It's as simple as that."

"I don't believe you. It's _never_ simple."

"It is. Some people make things simple. I'm a simple guy."

"An understatement if I've ever heard one," Elphaba said unkindly. "I think I understand your logic now. The occasionally clever prince knows no one comes near the green girl and took advantage of it. You're right, it is simple."

"So you think I'm clever!"

"_Occasionally_."

"Silly me, and for a moment there I was thinking that I was entirely repellant. Now at least I know I'm _occasionally_ tolerable."

"I never said tolerable. You're putting words in my mouth."

"My sincerest apologies. The compliment must have gone to my clever head."

"Must have." Elphaba's gaze shot through her lashes, not even sweeping so much as glaring, making him feel like at that moment she didn't think him deserving of a proper eye roll. "I can't think of any other way to make this conversation a bigger waste of time."

He knew she wasn't his number-one fan, but he liked to think that perhaps with his omnipresence in their shared classes he was starting to grow on her a bit. Clearly that wasn't the case. Fiyero sighed. "Look, this would go without saying under normal circumstances – so obviously not this one – but I borrowed you because I prefer your company to hers, not because I wanted to bother you."

"That would be a first," she said, but halfheartedly.

Fiyero's chest felt tense as he watched her—her gaze unreadable as she turned to face the end of the corridor from where the sunlight glared in the lenses of her glasses.

"So you…" she finally murmured, seeming a bit wilted and vulnerable for a moment before she cleared her throat. "I mean, do you really mean that? About preferring my company?"

He frowned. "Wouldn't you?"

Her emerald features eased at his compliment. "I suppose so."

"Since that's straightened out, how about that lunch date."

The corner of her full lips twitched up and he actually started hoping she'd take him up on lunch, just so he could keep watching that beautiful mouth of hers. He would even sacrifice that giant beef sandwich he was planning to demolish just to see it.

"Which lunch date?" she asked rhetorically. "The one you only made up to avoid a romantic rendezvous with a brazen, nameless beauty?"

"Oh, so you don't know her name either?"

She cackled at that, quickly and harshly and in a way that made Elphaba distinctly Elphaba. "I don't understand you," she told him, shaking her head and walking away with that crooked, wry smile still tugging at her face.

He turned, watching her ungainly departure, his hands stuck in his pockets nonchalantly.

"So a rain check then, yeah?"


	16. Chapter 15

It wasn't until his third time pushing Nessarose home that he even breached the topic of Boq. It seemed as though they were still together, but based on her comments on the matter, their relationship didn't cause her as much happiness as he had assumed it had the previous time. Fiyero simply asked her how they were.

Her hands twisted rather neurotically in her lap. "Oh, it's so hard to say. He's become very subdued when he sees me, but he still is so gracious and sweet. I find him very confusifying."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I wish I knew…"

"Sometimes relationships begin with the best of intentions, but then it's clear that it isn't the right one for those involved."

"No, it's me that's not right."

He stopped wheeling her forward and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. Nessa's big, deep brown eyes – intense in the same way that Elphaba's were – stared down at him forlornly.

"Don't you dare say that." He squeezed her fingers affectionately. "You are beautiful and intelligent and kind, and it is obvious he cares for you."

"But not enough."

"Do you hold that against him?" he asked, and it was clear she had not been expecting the question, for a frown creased her smooth, fair skin. "The heart wants what the heart wants. It is a difficult thing to change, even if the brain demands it."

"Do you think he loves me?"

"Oh Nessa, I don't know…"

"Do you?" Nessa demanded. The moment revealed to him a glimpse of the future Governess of Munchkinland he had never seen firsthand, having locked herself and her people up in its borders. "You may have only arrived here, Master Fiyero, but you know more than you let on. Surely you have an opinion on the matter."

His lips pursed; this wasn't his place. She became huffy and threw her hands up ungracefully, mimicry of her sister's temper. "Everyone acts as though I need protecting. I don't!"

"I know you don't," he indulged, catching her forearms with the pads of his fingers and guiding them back down.

"Then please, Fiyero, please…do you think he loves me?"

He sighed. This wasn't how he wanted this afternoon to go. Did he dare point out that 'love' was such a strong term after so little time? How could he after Elphaba stole his heart so quickly? Still, Nessarose, despite nearly fully outgrowing her teenage years, was still a child at heart. He could see why Boq continued to pamper to her, even with Fiyero's prodding to look out for his best interests.

"No, I don't believe he does," he said at last. "At least, he does not reciprocate your feelings. I think he wishes he could."

"I see." Her voice was so small then, like a whispered prayer, and she avoided his gaze.

"I think, given the opportunity, he would still choose to have you in his life."

"Could you be content with that?" she asked, and Fiyero could truly see then the little girl in her eyes that she hid with her mask of religiosity and indifference. "Watching as the person you love lives their life without you?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I already do?" he asked, standing up with a soft smile that hopefully hid his own heartache.

He spent two years wondering if Elphaba even gave him a second thought, and now he was repeating the most emotionally confusing time of his life. There was no guarantee that by the semester's end she would love him; there wasn't even a guarantee that he could stop history from repeating itself. He only knew that if it came to it, if he couldn't make her love him, he would give up everything he wanted if only to protect her from her fate.

"Someone here at Shiz?" she asked ingenuously.

"I have already said too much!" Fiyero said with a chuckle. "I beg of you to keep that between us. I wish to retain some air of mystery around here."

"I promise, I won't tell a soul," she said. Her eyes twinkled at him, grateful for the gift of trust he gave her, and he knew she was as good as her word. He put a friendly hand to her shoulder as he stepped behind the chair again.

"Come on, Nessarose, I'm buying you a muffin. How fast do you think this thing can go?"


	17. Chapter 16

The knock at his door that evening was abrupt, startling him from his thoughts as he began to remove his collared shirt. Figuring it was some overeager fresher wanting him to sign some petition or other, he cracked open the door. He didn't expect the fury of green to come pushing in.

"What do you think you are doing?" Elphaba asked, whirling around at him with a green hand peeking out from her sleeve to point at him accusingly.

How did she even know this was his room? Did she knock on every door until she found the right one? No, that wasn't something she would do. No doubt she scared it out of one of the boys returning to the dorms to save time. He almost asked how she got past the porter until it occurred to him that he was probably who she had bullied.

"Um…" Fiyero began, bewildered. "Undressing?"

Her face flushed as though she only just realized this; trust Elphaba to leap before she looked when she was in a rage. "No, I mean meddling with my sister."

Understanding dawned on him and he hadn't been smart enough to prevent it from showing on his face. She crossed her arms at that, waiting impatiently, silently demanding an answer. He copied her stance but remained impassive.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. Nessa has been in my arms for the last hour, sobbing about how she and Boq had broken up."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you? Because apparently you played a part in it."

"I'm sorry that she was upset," Fiyero clarified boldly.

"So you _did_ meddle?"

"I never meant to get involved," he said, half-honestly. "I certainly did not want to hurt her feelings. But she insisted I tell her what I thought about little himmy-who—"

"You know his name! I know you're acquaintances, as much as it befuddles me."

"Fine. She wanted my honest opinion about _Boq_. Did you want me to lie to her?"

"She's delicate. I only seek to protect her from callousness." ("…_the callousness I receive_," said words unspoken.)

"She says that she doesn't need protection. Moreover, if you're absolutely concerned for her wellbeing, tell me: Would you rather she be in a relationship based on lies and pity? You know how Boq favors Galinda."

"Galinda doesn't look twice at him."

"It doesn't matter. Boq will come to resent Nessa and she will be left truly heartbroken. Is that what you want for her?"

"How could you be so sure it will be that way?"

"I've seen it before," he told her confidently. "Look, if they went their separate ways, then they did so on their own. If they decide later in life that they really do deserve each other, then bully for them. At least then it would be something they both want."

"You've been here less than a month. Why do you care?"

"I make friends fast," he said, unthinkingly. When the look of misery softened her features, he hated himself and took an unconscious step towards her. The only friend she had ever made was the result of cruelty and regret. She had such doubt in herself; if only she would look at him perhaps she could see how much he desired to be let in.

But her eyes flickered down, away from his, and caught on something on his chest. "What is that?"

He followed her gaze and saw the glint of blue in the V of his unbuttoned shirt, just above the swooping neckline of his undershirt, which he didn't even realized was exposed. He fastened the article, hiding the diamonds from view.

"It's nothing," he said vaguely. He hadn't planned on it, but because of how she confronted him like this, he wouldn't reward her with an explanation about his tattoos. He wanted her to wonder about them. In another life, the woman in front of him had been enthralled by his tribal markings – the very memory of her hands and lips tracing them was arousing, which presented a potential problem if he didn't return focus to the here and now – but in this reality it would be the ace up his sleeve. Assuming she ever stopped hating him, which at the moment didn't seem likely.

Fiyero should have been self-conscious; not even Glinda had ever really seen him in such a state of undress: the hem of his shirt was hanging about his waist, his feet were bare, and he had run a hand through his hair upon arrival home, messing it up. But Elphaba was so different from others – and he had exposed far more than his body to her – that he couldn't bring himself to even feel even a little discomfited in her midst. Truthfully, he was more interested in how she felt as she watched him.

"You're neat."

"Thanks, I think you're pretty swell yourself."

She scowled at him and he flashed a grin and a wink in return.

"I mean you're tidy," she corrected, waving a hand about at his room. "I hadn't expected it."

He didn't used to be. But the military demanded a change of lifestyle, especially in his daily routine: the bed made to precision, the floors clear, his clothes folded and put away, his boots lined up by the door, and all personal items put from view. The only exception to this was his desk, which had a slightly askew stack of books and a couple loose sheets of paper with his sloppy scribbles on them—his attempts at drafting a paper due the next day.

"The semester's still early; I have plenty of time to develop bad habits," he said nonchalantly, reaching for his wrist to undo the button there; it wasn't long ago a similar move would have released a cufflink instead. He favored the former's simplicity and plainness. "Why does it surprise you so?"

"I guess I just assumed that you've always had people picking up after you."

"I've been on my own for a long time," he admitted, and Elphaba seemed sympathetic to that. She stepped over to his window, peeking through a gap she made in the curtains. A bar of golden red light cascaded through the open drapes onto her face, glinting off the frames of her glasses and illuminating one of her dark and strange eyes. He stared then, seeing a different depth that he hadn't known before, and found he could not find names for all the colors there.

He approached her quietly, wondering what caused that wistful look she wore. "What are you looking for?"

"How do you get on the roof?" she asked him lightly, catching him off guard. He hadn't realized she had noticed his excursions to the top of Briscoe Hall on nights when nightmares plagued him—no one else had. Even when he would linger up there to watch the first light of day, Shiz continued to slumber. Apparently Elphaba was an exception.

His bare feet were silent as they moved to her side, and he pulled aside the curtain to point outside. "There's a gutter drain just there," he said, and tried to calm his heart as her green face turned up to his with those enthralling irises, which were highlighted by the doe-eyed expression she wore. His eyes fell to her mouth, her full, inviting lips, which were ruddy in the glow of the setting sun.

She was so close that his senses felt over-stimulated. She smelled _really_ good, he noticed, different from anything he had ever experienced before but at the same time something he also had engrained in his memories of her. He wanted to reach out for her, touch her, kiss her, but it was too soon. She did not trust him yet, and that was more important to him than anything. So he would wait. The fabric slipped from his fingers and drowned her beauty in shadows again, killing the moment.

She seemed to come back into herself again. "I should go," she said, and before he could stop her she stepped away from him and fled the room without another word.


	18. Chapter 17

Her eyes were black as night, enflamed with passion. They bore into him, as if through him, seeing something beyond which even he knew. It scared him. It invigorated him.

Her skin glowed in the moonlight, more pearly than green, and was firm yet undeniably soft under his large, roughened hands. He touched every inch of it: the gentle curve of her side, the delicateness of her knee, her bony ankle, her expressive breasts, her tight stomach.

Her lips tasted of sweet rain, of crisp apple, of tart grape, of something he couldn't describe but he couldn't deny. He kept coming back for more, wanting, _needing._

Her short breaths mingled with this, and as she arched into him she would moan and whisper his name, like a prayer or a secret.

They moved together, hidden in the night, she a field of flowing green and he the hunter. 

* * *

If Fiyero did not dream of broken bones, of crucifixion in a cornfield, of agony and loneliness, he dreamt of Elphaba. There was no other alternative.

Those passionate dreams were hardly preferable. They did not grant him with more sleep and certainly were not satisfactory, for he would still wake up with his heart racing, his muscles taut throughout his body, filled with a hunger and desperation that couldn't be satiated.

He hated how he lusted for her, how stupidly male he was. The details of the dreams would fade within minutes – they always did – but the arousal wouldn't. He would stay up the rest of the night, both unable and unwilling to drift off again.

The midnight she had invaded his bedroom had found him in such a state and after he had calmed himself he rolled from his bed and to the window where she had stood only hours before. He opened the curtains, revealing the night, and stared across the commons, above the fruit trees to the window where the green girl would have been to have seen him on top of the dorms. She wasn't there. When he took his daily run a couple hours later, he looked again to see a hint of green through the panes of Crage Hall, but there was nothing.

It wouldn't be until later that morning, before their Life Sciences class, that he would even see her.

She was pushing Nessarose across a brick pathway and he was sitting on a wooden bench across the square, his fingers digging into the saccharine flesh of an orange. Nessa seemed more subdued than normal and something in her posture indicated that she also had a less than restful evening, but otherwise she appeared well. She was talking, her hands gesturing in a restricted way as if to prevent her from seeming too big or too loud like her sister, and Elphaba was leaning forward over the handles of the chair to calmly listen to her.

He watched as they slowly made their way past buildings – clearly Elphaba had chosen to escort her sister across campus before making her way to her own classes – and for a while neither Thropp noticed the prince. But then Nessarose's striking brown eyes saw him and a delicate smile graced her features. They were far enough away that neither party was obligated to approach the other, but she waved and Fiyero returned the motion good-naturedly. Elphaba merely glanced up at him but didn't acknowledge him, so he returned his hands to the rind of his fruit as they continued on. He would see her soon.

Fiyero took his usual seat in Dr. Dillamond's classroom, behind hers and to the right, and when Elphaba entered the classroom and sat down his eyes burned into her. He should have been angry after the way she had confronted him the night before, but he could hardly hold onto her heated defense of her sister when all he could think about was her body against his.

As the semester progressed, she had either come to accept that Fiyero had the tendency to stare at her during class or had become very good at ignoring it. But today, even after lecture started, she had given in and stolen a glance over her shoulder as though she too was thinking about that lost moment the day before. Their eyes met and she lingered like that, her brow furrowed like she was running calculations in her mind; unconsciously the hand that was supporting his chin shifted and his fingers brushing against his own lips as he thought about hers.

It was then she turned away, the tops of her ears turning an alluring shade of bottle green, and he smiled to himself. Perchance he wasn't the only one having uncontrolled thoughts that day.


	19. Chapter 18

**So, I debated about whether I would respond to concerns about Nessa taking a liking - nay, an obsession - to Fiyero. HollyBush, being the bad influence that she is, told me not to say anything to you guys and let you keep worrying, but I want you to know I'm nicer than she is. So, to put your minds at ease, I want to let you know that I give the girl some credit! I genuinely considered taking the story down a path in which Nessa crushed on Fiyero but truthfully, I do believe she is fixated on Boq and I also believe that _she_ believes that Fiyero likes someone else, presumably Galinda or someone she doesn't know. So worry not people, Fiyero has enough problems without Nessarose's fickle heart being one of them. :)**

* * *

Fiyero had truly underestimated how social he used to be. Back during his original experience at Shiz, he spent his weekends taking Galinda out on the town, spoiling her with fancy restaurants and spinning her around the Ozdust, or out with the boys from his dorm to share a keg of beer and a few laughs.

After the experience at The Boar and Kennel with the Kumbric Witch, he avoided being dragged out with the boys. It left him feeling sick without even a sip of the alcohol he didn't enjoy drinking so much anymore.

Still, though he often spent his free evenings in the common room at Briscoe Hall, his feet propped up by the fireplace with a good book in his hands, he wasn't meant to sit still long and was absolutely incapable of expending his days holed up, especially as the last heat of summer still lingered in the air.

One Sunday he found a couple of strapping Gillikese guys tossing a discus back and forth on one of the large lawns on campus and on a whim asked to play with them. Before long, most likely because of the popular prince's interest, some of the other boys from the dorm joined them, then a couple from the neighboring dorms, and within a couple weeks they were able to hold a proper scrimmage of a classic Vinkun sport.

It involved two teams and one disk, with the purpose of each team to get the disk across the opposite goal line. It was passed between teammates, each of whom had to plant themselves in place once they held the disk until they released it into the air again. Once they became more comfortable playing together, they became rougher as men tended to do, and while Fiyero often found his knees or hips scraped from diving for the disk he also had bruises from being either accidentally or purposefully tackled.

Many of the guys catcalled out to the girls who more often than not assembled to watch them play. Even Galinda and her groupies stopped by once, shrieking in chorus with the other girls and calling out his name every time he was near the disk. Tibbett and Crope would push in the crowd, swooning and falling about in the grass, but since he never saw a green-skinned person among them he didn't do much more than snicker at them all.

Shiz was not used to seeing such unauthorized, untraditional events at Shiz, and Fiyero was pleased he had his part in continuing to change history about the campus. Being more physical and used to male camaraderie following his stint in the military than he had been his first time around, he found his Sunday games physically satisfying. More than once on soggy days he'd walk home with a temporary limp, covered in muck, tired but with a smile on his face.

He still kept his lunch dates with Galinda on Saturdays. As the leaves slowly changed about them, so did Galinda. She still fancied him and didn't resist an opportunity to flutter her plump lashes at him or pause picturesque as they alternated easy conversation, but her feelings about her friends clearly began shifting, judging by their less and less frequent presence with each week. Fiyero's outward indifference to Pfannee and Shenshen since his arrival was purposeful, for regardless of any action of his they would more-or-less become a thing of the past in Galinda's life as Elphaba became a more positive influence.

That just meant that Galinda required new shopping buddies on her trips to the square on Saturdays. Sometimes that meant Fiyero, who did appreciate a new belt or shirt every now and again, but once that meant Elphaba and Nessarose, the latter of whom looked like the cat who swallowed the canary at being chosen while the former looked as if she had swallowed a lemon.

As Nessarose's mood improved in the couple of weeks following her brief and ill-fated relationship with Boq, so did Elphaba's attitude towards Fiyero, as though she had either come to forgive him for his interference or in hindsight had seen the value in it. Whatever the reason, shared classes together had been more cordial and the Saturday lunch at Galinda's favorite café was rather enjoyable.

They talked of the sisters' upbringing and of Munchkinland, of people at Shiz and of their mutual history class, but as was common in Galinda's presence nothing ever went into depth. This disappointed him, for the paltrier the information that was shared about Elphaba the more he wanted to know. He didn't get a chance to take control of the conversation to remedy that problem before Galinda decided she was done nattering and was ready to find herself and Nessarose new dresses.

Nessarose had a grand time of it, having never had a girlfriend to shop with before, but Elphaba quickly became bored of flipping through hangers of fashionable attire. To his delight, when he offered to wait outside a particularly hated store of his after over an hour of trailing Galinda about, she had chosen to join him.

They stopped at a cart that sold chilled, flavored custard and he got them each a small cup.

"Why aren't you going to be governor?" he asked as they wandered back to the storefront. The question had been eating at him since that life-changing day in history class, when he finally conceded to his royal responsibilities. While he had, as Dr. Dillamond said, proposed progress between their two nations, even when he were to become king it would not be the brilliant green girl with whom he would work and he didn't know why.

"Because Nessarose is," she said, stabbing at the creamy treat with her wooden scoop, perhaps so she could avoid looking at him.

"Aren't you older?"

"Yes," she said pointedly, "but not favored."

"Why?" She shot him a look as if questioning his intelligence and he scowled. "That's not a good enough reason."

"It's as good of a reason as you're going to get," she said, slipping the spoon between her lips to suck on it.

He was too busy thinking about the conversation to even consider the sensuality of the moment. "I don't need to spend the rest of the semester getting to know you both to know you're better suited for the position."

"Father has made his opinion clear on the matter."

"But you don't disagree with me," he realized.

They observed through the glass storefront as Galinda held up a dress for Nessarose, before draping it across her seated form with enthusiasm. Galinda then wheeled Nessa back through the store to try on the outfit she picked out and Elphaba's brow furrowed over her watchful gaze.

"She isn't good at taking care of other people because she has never learned to take care of herself. But Nessa is strong-willed and smart. If she ever comes down from her plinth, if ever allows herself to be the bitch she really is, she'll be better than I," she said dryly.

"My, you're bitter."

"Don't you know affection when you see it?" she scoffed. "I love Nessa. She's a pain in the neck, she's intolerably self-righteous, she's a nasty piece of work. I'm _devoted_ to her."

"I know you are," he said truthfully. "If there is nothing else I learn about you, I know that. Particularly after that night you came storming into my bedroom raving about her, somehow immune to my rather attractive state of undress."

She ignored his jab. "Our father required me to babysit Nessarose through most of my childhood. When he dies and she becomes governor, I'll have to take care of her again."

He frowned. "What a hideous prospect for a life."

She seemed resigned, defeated. "I can't agree with you more."

If what Elphaba, the Witch of the West, had told him after her visit with her sister was true, then Nessarose had expected as Elphaba did now that her sister was to give up her own pursuits in order to serve the Governess. But that couldn't be the life that Elphaba would have accepted; he was certain of it. _She_ was the smart one, the strong-willed one, no matter how much she loved her baby sister.

"But what do you want?" he asked, only having an imprecise notion of her original desires before they all went to hell, after which all she wanted was redemption and stability and solace. "Where do you really see yourself after Shiz?"

"I see myself – oh, you're going to laugh at me – in the Emerald City," she said, her face lighting up slightly even though her arms wrapped around herself insecurely. "Working for the Wizard. Making good."

He couldn't imagine a thing he wanted to do less at the moment than laugh. Fiyero tried to at least smile for her. "I bet you'd be great at that."

"And how could you know?"

"I tried telling you I was smart, but you still seem convinced that I only sit in the front of the classroom because I like the view," he said as seriously as he could. He was overjoyed when she was the one who laughed.


	20. Chapter 19

Monday morning found Fiyero barely walking into class with a couple minutes to spare. He had another challenging night of erratic sleep and emotive dreams; the dreams were already forgotten but the fatigue on his body never faded so fast. Caving to the call of caffeine, he stopped at a small shack that sold coffee and pastries not too far from Ozma Towers and waited in line to order himself a double-shot of espresso to go, all the while letting his mind drift to the green girl he would soon see in his morning biology class.

Elphaba was already settled with her head in a book when he arrived, so she didn't notice his approach until he was right in front of her holding a brown paper cup in front of her face. He greatly enjoyed watching her expression change in the seconds he stood there, her brow furrowing over the eyes that had stopped scanning the page as his slight shadow fell over her, and without even putting down her book or lifting her head her dark eyes suddenly glared up at his outstretched hand.

"What is that?" she asked cautiously.

"It's mineral tea," he said, putting it down on her desk while he took a big swig from his own paper cup. He cringed slightly; his coffee was still a wee bit too hot for such mouthfuls yet. "That's what you like, right? You ordered it at brunch the other day."

"Yes, but…" Elphaba sighed, finally closing her book and setting it on her lap. "What is it doing on my desk?"

"It's waiting to be enjoyed." Rather than push past the students sitting at the wings on either side of the second row, Fiyero rudely climbed over the seat next to Elphaba to get to his own, but she didn't react to that because, well, he always did that. "It's not poisoned," he promised, dropping his stuff down in one seat and his body in another. "At least I don't think so, I didn't actually brew the stuff."

"I'm still confused why you brought it to me."

"Well," he said, propping his boots up on the desk next to hers, which caused her face to contort in annoyance and disgust in a way that really made the few coins he dropped for her drink wholly worthwhile. "I can tell you my reasoning has nothing to do with the fact that you're the smartest kid in class and teacher's pet. Buying you gifts for that would just be _unethical_."

Though he spoke with 100% honesty, she took his bait and narrowed her eyes with feigned exasperation, just as he wanted. "Right, and you wouldn't do anything so unprincipled."

"Exactly."

Dillamond called order then, which disappointed him because he wanted to continue their banter, but was rewarded when her green fingers wrapped around the disposable coffee cup and brought it up to smell the steam. The gentle smile that pulled at the side of her mouth upward seemed to be connected to a string in his heart because it sent it strumming pleasantly as she gently sipped her tea, her focus now entirely on the Goat and the intro to his latest lecture.

Oz, he was done for. He already knew he was a sucker for the subtlest of smirks from her, but now he knew what he would be doing next Monday and every Monday following, and that involved bringing her tea in hopes he could see her smile like that again.


	21. Chapter 20

**As always, thank you to everyone who leaves me a review. They get me through. :)**

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Fiyero wasn't very good at predicting the little changes that occurred because of an alteration he made to the timeline. He wasn't changing the weather or anything, but his relationships were all different. In many ways it was good, as he wanted—platonic with Galinda, influential with Boq, and… indefinable with Elphaba, which at least implied some kind of relationship even if he didn't understand it.

But then there were the little relationships that didn't even occur to him were important until later. For instance, there was the young lady from weeks before who wanted to "study" with him in his bedroom between classes. Needing neither to have a study buddy nor to be raped, he blew her off using the conveniently located Elphaba as an excuse. It was there in that he made a mistake, because if Elphaba hadn't been on the vixen's radar before he altered history she sure was now.

He saw them together in one of the many great bluestone corridors of Shiz's academic buildings. The great arched ceilings and minimal windows created an eerie tunnel-like environment that reminded the former Captain of the Guard far too much of Southstairs for his comfort, but this was one of the faster ways to cross campus to get to his economy class from the dormitories. He was going to be early for his classes, as he often was first thing in the day when he couldn't sleep the night before, when he saw that beautiful flash of green in the distance. He had decided he wouldn't say anything to her, wouldn't even act like he saw her, except that as he passed he could see that she was engaged in a conversation with none other than Tamla – he had eventually figured out her name as the semester went on – and judging by the wrinkle of Elphaba's brow it and the way her arms were crossed defensively in front of her, it wasn't a pleasant interaction.

He passed them surreptitiously and hid behind the corner of a junction that existed just feet beyond them, trying to eavesdrop. But the shuffling of dozens of feet and droning voices throughout the entirety of the giant corridor echoed and muffled the murmuring women. Fatigue and frustration made him drop his head back against the cold stone behind him. Boredom and annoyance with himself made him drop the curious matter from his mind and decide to just go to class but right as he stepped away from the wall a green body collided hard with him.

"Oof!" Elphaba uttered, having ricocheted off of his larger form, while he bounced back against the wall. Having seen that neither of them were hurt, he ran a hand reactively over his hair to fix it but she had bent down to the ground to retrieve books he hadn't noticed she had dropped. One of them was propped up against his boot and he grabbed it just as she went to swipe at it, and they both stood upright.

"Fiyero, give it back," she growled, clutching the larger textbooks she had picked up against her chest as her dark eyes glared at him. The neat bun at the back of her head seemed to have been jostled in the collision and her own hair was starting slip out of place.

"I will, just let me fix this," he told her, his fingers in the middle of trying to smooth out the wrinkles and creases in the corners of a few pages of the small, thick paperback from where it had fallen on its corner. Then he handed it back, but not without glancing at the title. "You're reading speeches of early unionist fathers? What boring class is that for?"

"It's not for a class," she said, snatching it back and tucking it between the large tomes and her chest, as if to protect it from him. "I'm just reading them."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't even know if I want to read them. I read them as poetry. I like the sound of the words, but I don't ever really expect my slow, slanted impression of the world to change by what I read." She seemed frustrated, but whether it was at herself for her confession or at him he wasn't sure of initially, but then she turned her icy glare on him and he recognized her annoyance with him. "What were you doing standing there?"

"Tying my shoes?" he threw out, even though they both already knew he had no laces on his leather boots. Her face got meaner somehow and he crooked a slight grin at that. "That's a lie. I was holding up the wall."

"Fiyero," she said in a warning tone.

"I saw Tamla talking to you."

"You've learned her name," Elphaba noticed, shifting her books for a moment so she could use a hand to brush a loose lock out of her face.

"Sure did— knew you'd be proud. Anyway, I wanted to make sure she wasn't giving you a hard time."

"Oh, so you were waiting in the wings to come to my rescue should the occasion arise?"

"No, not at all," he said truthfully, watching as the hair fell back over her forehead again. He resisted the urge to tuck it away himself. "I've noticed that any actions that I've done around you that would charm any normal girl has gotten an opposite reaction from you. Because of that, I think I've managed to entirely reverse my instincts in your presence. So no, I would not have gotten in the middle of whatever you were doing, even if she was clawing your eyes out. I wouldn't even pity you."

"That's oddly considerate," Elphaba said, smirking slightly. She blew the hair away from her face ineffectually; she finally caved and slid a thin finger against her brow to redirect the unruly tress. "I'll have you know your friend Tamla visits me at least once a week. She likes to take time to remind me of my place here at Shiz."

"What does she say?"

"She likes to reinforce the ideology of a Shiz hierarchy," Elphaba said nonchalantly. "Well, she uses less complicated terminology. But all of her monologues end with her reminding me that I'm at the bottom."

"Oh Elphaba, I'm so sorry. This is my fault."

"Fiyero, do you honestly think I care what she says?" she said, cocking her head slightly up at him, unaware that the hair had fallen free again. The fact that it was as stubborn as she was made him smile. "Everyone cares about their inclusiveness in this school and where they rank, but I've _always_ been on the outside looking in and Shiz isn't any different. I'm here for Nessa and I'm here to get an education. Their little pecking order doesn't even register to me. So she can say whatever she wants. It's not even worth reminding her that I get His Royal Highness's unwanted attention regardless of my status in society."

"That you do," he said with a charming smile. "And let me just say thank you for the correct prefix. Sometimes people call me 'Your Majesty' and I have to tell them, 'Your Majesty is my _father_!'"

She chuckled at his cheesy, pathetic attempt at humor. He felt so good.

"So…you're okay then?"

"I'm fine. They're all barely faces in the throng and their mean comments fade into the din after years. I even get to the point of hoping for some originality."

"I'll try to think of something new for you if it'll make you happy," he offered.

"Don't strain yourself too much, I know how hard thinking can be for you," she quipped, her smile beating his this time as she started to retreat down the hallway.

"Very clever, Thropp," he called after her. "Hold up, you didn't tell me- am I just a face in the crowd to you?"

She scoffed, the heels of her boots dragging against the stone floor as she walked backwards away from him. "If only. You're far too annoying. Quit grinning like that, it wasn't a compliment."

"You think so, but everything gets turned around, remember? I'm actually having a hard time accepting your flattery."

"Oz, I can't deal with you."

It would have been fun to follow her, but his class was in the opposite direction.


	22. Chapter 21

**This should make you guys happy. :)**

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It was a warm day. Galinda was waving a lace fan at herself while gossiping away about this person or that. Fiyero, practiced at filling the moments while she took breaths with interested noises or encouraging statements, only half listened; instead, he munched contentedly on the fruit from the large platter they ordered and watched the plaza bustle about with people living their separate lives.

Galinda, as always, looked truly beautiful in her flowery sundress, and Fiyero knew he was just as fetching in his white pants and short-sleeved peach-colored shirt. Even dressed so casually, they managed to receive constant compliments from passerbys as they lounged together at Galinda's favorite restaurant outside of Railway Square for their weekly tea date.

Despite his lack of attention, Fiyero truly enjoyed his time with Galinda if only it was because it was effortless. Maybe it was the years of experience with her or maybe because of how compatible they were, but he could relax when it was just the two of them. Easy, flawless system: One: put on a happy face; two: be charming; and three: have a nice time. It came so naturally to him. To both of them.

Still, he knew to be wary, and he kept an eye out for signs that she might be growing tired of waiting for him to make the first move and to take matters into her own hands. He had an engagement in his past that proved she'd be willing to do just that.

He admired Galinda's fortitude. How many times had they heard comments like, "Aren't you two just perfect together?" from strangers at neighboring tables? Or little old ladies moseying past the patio of the teahouse and inquiring how long they'd been a couple? And Galinda always deflected so deftly with, "Aren't you so sweet?" or "We're the dearest of friends," with a never-wavering smile.

He constantly wondered if he were being unfair, but at this point in their friendship it seemed best to not rock the boat with an unkind acknowledgment of unrequited fancy. For all he knew, she might have lost interest in pursuing a relationship after this long of simple companionship.

He glanced across the table as she jabbered with happily dramatic lilts, her fan moving in accordance to the excitement of the topics of which she chose to speak. He had spent the last couple of years – before his paranormal return to Shiz – growing estranged from her; he could not express how glad he was to have her and her frivolities in his life.

Fiyero reached out and absentmindedly picked a black brambleberry from their shared fruit plate and took a distracted bite. The moment the juices hit his taste buds he sat upright, startled by the intensity of the emotions they triggered.

It caught Galinda's attention. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Yeah," Fiyero lied, holding up the uneaten half of the berry in his hand. "Surprising flavor."

"Oh _those_, whatever they're called," she said, her noise bunching cutely. She waved her fan at the table as if to brush the offending fruit away. "I don't care for them, they're too tart for my liking. And the seeds get stuck in my teeth something dreadful."

"_Morus_," he informed her thoughtfully, "more commonly known as mulberry. They grow wild in the forests of Munchkinland."

"And how did you come to learn such a peculiar thing?"

"No idea," he lied, popping the rest of the berry in the air and catching with his mouth with a goofy grin, much to her glee.

"Oh! That reminds me of the drollest story of my darlingest popsie…" Galinda started gaily, but Fiyero was already lost in memories of his own.

"_Try this."_

_With the rustle of trees and the endless hum of the forest at dusk, Fiyero hadn't heard her approach, but suddenly Elphaba was kneeling at his side. Between them, she held a dark purple berry between green fingers with eager reticence. _

"_What is that?" he asked, abandoning his task of clearing their campsite of rocks and twigs to take the fruit from her warily. _

_She smiled beautifully, sending his heart haywire: her lips curled up softly, shyly, something that was somehow both seemingly uncharacteristic from the powerful, passionate woman in front of him and still so endearingly Elphaba. "Just try it. Go on, you'll like it."_

_Her eyes shone brightly as she watched him tentatively nibble at the little beads of the fruit, her smile widening with his as little bursts of tangy sweetness lit up on his tongue. "That's amazing."_

"_I told you you'd like it," she said as she settled to a seat at his side, that bashful smile so sincere he wasn't sure how his chest could handle the love he felt. Her other hand was clutching an overflowing handful of berries against the loose threads of her patchwork dress and she scooped some to share with him. "They're mulberries. Scientifically: _Morus_, a genus of the Moraceae family."_

_He laughed, amazed. "Okay Thropp, I know you were a huge bookworm at Shiz, but you've been on the run from the law for years now. How do you possibly know that?"_

_Grinning, she admitted, "I broke into a bookshop and studied up on various plants."_

_He chuckled through his last mouthful of juicy fruit. "Of course you did."_

"_You would too if you had as many run-ins with poisonous plants as I did in the beginning." She was still smiley as she ate her meal one berry at a time, pretending that she couldn't feel the heat of his of his gaze, but her expression seemed littered with a nuance of a million emotions and he couldn't help himself staring: humility, pride, shame, timidity, exhilaration… Oz, she was incredible, he thought with overwhelming conviction. "Even the white mulberry, for instance, is toxic and hallucinogenic if unripe…"_

_His share of the berries were gone and without them he had no distractions from the mesmerizing creature next to him, as hyper intelligent as she was striking in beauty. As she raised another fruit to her lips he took her hand in his and guided it to his own mouth, her playful objections quickly stifled as he suckled on her berry-stained fingers, her eyes blackening and her breath catching._

_It was as though the very air changed around them in that moment, charging with some energy that couldn't be seen but tingled around them. _

"_You were saying?" he said between sensual kisses of her fingertips, the roughness of his unshaven chin proceeding his lips as he worshipped the emerald skin of her fingers, her palm, the inside of her wrist…_

"_The, uh, _M-morus alba…_" To his amusement, she once again lost track of her words. What he could only describe as heat-haze obscured her usual crystal-clear focus; she dropped the rest of the fruit she had clutched to her belly to the forest floor and with unmistakable intention moved herself over him. Her eyes, dark as night, never left his. _

_Was it really only just yesterday that they stood in that throne room, trying to determine how much the other had changed? Was it only last night that they had truly touched one another for the first time?_

"_The _Morus alba_," he repeated playfully as she turned her attention to the buttons at the front of his shirt. "Excuse me, I'm trying to learn here." _

_With the last button undone, she ran her hands across the blue diamonds that fascinated her so. Smirking, while he sighed appreciatively at her tender touch, she whispered, "So am I."_

"Fiyero!"

He snapped to attention as the blonde called his name. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted these mulberries," Galinda asked. Apparently they had picked through their plate enough that the waiter was hovering to see if he could take it from them. A few purple berries rolled around the plate, between uneaten bits of pale melon.

"I do," he said as the waiter took his leave, giving a half-hearted smile, remembering the taste of mulberries on his lover's lips. "I really do."


	23. Chapter 22

**Are any amount of apologies enough? Because I'm really sorry for my absence the last couple of months. I can't even tell you how busy my life got for a while: I was working two jobs (one of which the schedule changed and the other of which doubled my workload without consulting me), I moved unexpectedly, my sister got married and I was the maid of honor, family came in and out of town, multiple birthdays, the holidays, a couple family members in and out of the hospital, and the list goes on. All the while I was pulled away from the world of fan fiction and when I had the time to return I couldn't seem to fall back into it.**

**In sick irony, most of this story is actually written, the exception of which was this next chapter, which I kept skipping because it was a new idea that kept changing and changing in my head. So if you'll forgive me, I'll reward you with a couple quick updates following this. Just don't forget to hit that little review button to tell me what you think :)**

**And thanks to those who nominated me and voted for me in the Greg Awards this year! And thanks for RavenCurls for the nice news that I came in second place in Best General Story, tied with fermataoso, whom I adore as a writer so I'm beyond flattered. **

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On a sunny, clear Sunday afternoon, Fiyero and his discus buddies found themselves ankle deep in mud and they were having a ball. It seemed that the grounds crew at Shiz had decided to divert canal water onto campus in order to irrigate a couple of the yellowing grass fields, for it was still quite hot and dry despite the autumn leaves changing around them. The dozen or so boys that regularly met all stood in different states of amusement on their flooded turf and after having a serious discussion that pretty much went, "Should we go home?" "Nah," Fiyero and his friends spent two hours chasing after thrown discs, diving and rolling around in the soggy grass until their clothes were unrecognizable and they were breathless laughing.

It was nice to feel as young as his body sometimes.

After someone tripped Fiyero and he went chin-first into the muck, the scrimmage dissolved into chaos as a faux battle followed as a couple guys on Fiyero's team riled up with juvenile indignation on his behalf and lead the charge seeking revenge. Not feeling bothered enough to get up and participate, Fiyero rolled over and began moving his limbs around making and angel-like shape in the sludge while feet and bodies splashed about him, feeling cheery as mature men of generally high social standing in a prestigious university managed to regress to the state of children.

"Tiggular!" came a voice above him, and Fiyero opened his eyes to see a strapping Gillikinese lad named Avaric Tenmeadows towering over him. He was an unusually good-looking fellow – his straight teeth were oddly bright against the mud on his face and his square jaw dripped with irrigation water – and a wealthy asshole; with Avaric's cocksure manner and Fiyero's natural charisma, it came as no surprise that men flocked to each of them as much as women did.

Fiyero grinned, bringing his hands behind his head and crossing his legs casually. "Avaric, you've got a little something on your everything."

"I plan on asking one of these girls to help me clean off, if you know what I mean," Avaric said with a laugh, gesturing to the small crowd of students that came to watch the shenanigans. Fiyero resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead clenching his smile in place. "Listen Tiggular, we're going out tonight and you're not ditching again."

"I'm not?"

Fiyero usually found some excuse to avoid the obligatory post-discus party at the local dive bar: procrastinated homework, fictitious sinus infection, a mysterious hot date… (It was almost always the latter.)

"Nope. First round is on me if someone gets the Winkie to go!"

And that was all it took to get everyone in earshot to begin chanting his name. Oh boy.

"If you're buying," Fiyero acquiesced, but not without flinging a ball of mud square at Avaric's chest. "That's for calling me a Winkie."

"I didn't realize you and your girl parts were so sensitive," Avaric said, laughing heartily. "Speaking of lady parts, your girl is here."

Elphaba came? Fiyero sat up eagerly, his heart feeling like a hundred horses gaining speed as he looked for her. She never came to watch!

But it was Galinda Avaric was referring to, and rather than his favorite green girl, Galinda's sycophantic devotees were in toe, giggling and pointing and squealing amongst the small crowd that always gathered as the mucky discus players meandered that way to flirt and tease.

He tried not to let his disappointment show.

"Invite her out with us tonight," Avaric demanded.

"I fear whatever debauchery will take place tonight would not make a fitting atmosphere for the likes of Galinda Upland," Fiyero chuckled, throwing his hands up in time to block the splash Avaric's foot sent his way.

"Good afternoon ladies," Avaric called out with his sharp, bright grin pulling at his messy face, leaving Fiyero dripping behind him. "Like what you see? I can't promise that what's underneath isn't dirty as well!"

The girls surrounding Galinda all giggled, while she waved sweetly to the prince, which he returned as he hopped to his feet.

Before he could even decide if he wanted to go over and talk with her, Avaric bellowed, "I know what you girls want—_hugs_! Come to Papa!"

It was worth all of the stress of time travel just to see Galinda and her friends shriek and scurry away from the grimy, slimy Gillikinese.

After long showers, the team all met at Blackhole's, a place appropriately named, for it was a dark, ugly hole-in-the-wall kind of place. Avaric ordered an inordinate amount of fried potatoes, meats, and pickled vegetables and pitchers of beer and a couple rounds of jiggers. Regardless of the night, there was always a healthy crowd consuming cheap liquor that consisted of every type that existed in the college-town of Shiz, from the seedy men of questionable reputations to the young scholars of Shiz who ranged from the boorish and bored to those of high-breeding and society who felt the same way. Fiyero had been very confident in his assumption that Galinda would have stuck out like a sore thumb in such an environment, for surely the ugly and attractive women alike shooting down shots of spirits and the come-ons of rowdy men would have little to converse about with Galinda Upland and her bubbly bunch. He was also fairly certain the future Witch of the North wouldn't dare risk staining her skirts on the dirty wood benches.

For a man who had been trapped in the life of decorum and propriety in the Emerald City as long as he was, Fiyero appreciated the shadows and indifference of Blackhole's (though not enough to make a habit of frequenting it). After many mugfuls of beer he couldn't deny himself the desire to socialize as he was once so prone to do, flippantly and insubstantially, the charisma rolling out of him more and more with every glass of gin pushed into his hands. Every conversation he had was one he felt like he must have had before a hundred times in his old life, whether it was of cliché politics or in speaking with every striking female in the bar, including the two he was certain were lesbians until they asked if he wanted to go home with them both for the night.

At long last, flush with drunkenness, he fell back to the table where Avaric was relaxing with a whiskey on ice, his form splayed across the booth and his arm wrapped around a cute little Emerald City sprite who was gossiping expressively with a girlfriend.

"Seems like you've got your pick of the litter," Avaric said, his pointer finger coming off of his glass to indicate the room full of women who kept shooting him hopeful glances. "Who's it going to be?"

"No one tonight," Fiyero stated, his inebriated body melting into the seat while he grabbed someone's half-finished mug of draft and took a gulp.

"Oh come on brother, you can't be serious. There were like six different girls who were literally drooling over the resident prince in their midst, and you're planning on leaving unaccompanied?"

"I'm not feeling like any girl," Fiyero said wistfully, his head falling backwards as he thought about Elphaba. "I want _the_ girl, you know?"

"'_The_ girl'?" Avaric repeated with a scoff.

"Yeah. The perfect girl. Haven't you ever been hung up on something and you couldn't get it out of your head?"

"Lemme guess, small and blonde with an ample bosom."

"Tall and dark," Fiyero amended distractedly. "Small bust; just enough. Long legs, silky hair, piercing eyes. Pretty, but not too pretty. The kind of girl you don't see coming until she knocks you off your feet."

"You lost me at 'not too pretty'," Avaric said like the asshole he was. "I thought Galinda Upland was your thing."

"She's _a_ perfect girl," Fiyero acquiesced, "but not _the_ perfect girl."

"You're an idiot Tiggular," Avaric said. Fiyero pulled his head up to look at his friend to see the girl he was entertaining had begun nibbling at his neck at some point. The future Margrave of Tenmeadows just sipped at his glass unfazed. "You need to get over yourself and go hit up Galinda's room. Get all of your dumb little fancies out of your system."

He imagined pounding on Galinda's dorm room door and being greeted by the grumpy, sleepy face of her roommate, her thick hair mussed from slumber. Oh, to rouse those lips sluggish with grogginess, to grip her cool body against his until she was as heated as he was as he pushed her towards her bed…

Suddenly it was all he wanted.

"For once, Avaric, you're right," Fiyero agreed, draining the last of bad beer from his cup and tottering out of the booth.

"Atta boy," Avaric encouraged.

And for about a half a minute as he left Blackhole's, he intended on following Avaric's advice and finding Elphaba to express himself through physicality, until the night air hit his face, sobering him up just enough to recognize if Elphaba didn't kill him for moving on her, Galinda's earsplitting shrieks at him in their room necking her roomie probably would do him in.

So he went home, alone.


	24. Chapter 23

**As promised. :)**

* * *

Fiyero was as flush as possible on the surface of his writing desk, desperately absorbing the coolness from the wood into the pores of his face and the underside of his arms. He felt like hell. His head thoroughly throbbed, his stomach was somehow mid-flip, and everything was horribly, painfully loud and bright around him.

To think he spent years letting himself end up in his state.

He should have stayed home in bed, but it was Monday morning and even in his miserable state he couldn't imagine missing Dillamond's morning class, for Life Science was the only period he was guaranteed to see Elphaba without any distractions. Well, aside from the class itself, which was greatly distracting for her but certainly not for him.

The desk smelled like pencil lead. Curse pencils, curse writing, curse thinking. He hated all of it right now.

"Hello Fiyero."

"What's so good about it," he grumbled automatically; he frowned when he comprehended his non-sequitor and peeked up just enough through his strained eyelids to see Elphaba paused halfway through unloading her things staring with an eyebrow raised judgmentally at him. "Sorry."

"Are you sick?"

"No. Yes." He cringed, wishing he could burrow deeply into the desk each time the door burst open.

"Right." He buried his forehead into the crook of his elbow, comprehending that Elphaba had surely had enough of this nonsensical, monosyllabic conversation and giving up on it all together. But then he heard the gentle clap of something being placed on the surface of his desk; before he could lift his head to inquire of it, the strong scent of coffee met his nostrils.

"Ohhh," he intoned, lifting his eyes up to meet the side of the paper cup and to Elphaba, who was still standing next to her desk watching him with an incredulous eyebrow, her own much smaller brown cup clutched in her green hands. He practically embraced the cup with his arms, pulling its warmth and aroma as close to him as possible. "Please tell me this is real."

"If it isn't, I'll feel very cheated by the man from whom I purchased it."

"And it's for me?" he checked, lifting the lid to get a more robust inhalation of the life-saving brew. It smelled so strong that the whiff alone was enough to dampen his hangover symptoms.

"Clearly."

He smiled up to her. She looked beautiful this morning – as she did every morning in his biased opinion – but this morning she was actually paying attention to him, focused on him with those gorgeous eyes and that clever mouth quirked up in a way that sent his insides flipping around within him. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, it's in payment for last week."

"Last week?"

"Yes, last week. You bought me tea and now I'm returning the favor."

"Your timing is impeccable."

"It seems you had fun last night."

"_Fun_ is a strong word. I had alcohol last night—that's more accurate." He risked a sip and, sure enough, the witch must have imbued soothing, restorative magic into the cup. "Ohh you don't know how much I love you right now."

He blanched and stiffened, realizing what he said, but the words were the vomit that he had spent the morning trying to suppress—an uncontrollable burst of something meant for more private, appropriate circumstances. Fortunately for him Elphaba just rolled her eyes at his theatrics and took her seat in front of him.

"So," he started, wishing to recover. "Now I owe you a cup."

She twisted in her seat to glare sternly at him. "That's not how it goes, Fiyero. This was repayment. The debt is cleared."

"That's not true. You've just given me something and that needs recompense. So next Monday I'll bring you a tea and then I'll be square with you."

"But then you'll have brought me two drinks and I'll only have given you one. I'll owe you again."

"Sounds good to me."

"So in my effort to be done with this matter I've incited an eternal return of coffee and tea?"

"Isn't that great?" he said with a dopey grin as class started.


	25. Chapter 24

**Don't worry wicked7914, the story isn't over. There's still a ways to go yet :)**

**Thank you to everyone who takes a moment to review. It brightens my whole day to see them!**

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Oh, his younger self would slug him in the jaw if he could see Fiyero now. He had been convinced by Boq to accompany him in his work at the Three Queens library on more than one afternoon. It wasn't that Fiyero truly had anything against libraries; on the contrary, more than once he would venture into the one near Briscoe Hall for academic resources and even go into the Crage library, which was decidedly less useful educationally but often had a brilliant Munchkinland girl spread out across a table in the back, taking advantage of the calm of the girl's archives to study. The thing about libraries to Fiyero was that to him, they were to be utilized selfishly and fleetingly, as the men in the Gale Force claimed to use the capital prostitutes.

So, finding Fiyero amidst the musty stacks in his free time, assisting Boq as he cleaned ancient manuscripts for no personal gain, was shameful and discreditable by popular standards. Well, truthfully, Fiyero did very little to help but kept Boq, Tibbett and Crope company as they worked, instead preferring to think of himself as moral support. The titanic Rhinoceros librarian, with its beady, watchful eyes and intimidating tusk, would often huff grumpily if he caught Fiyero lounging with his boots on the work surface. With a shameful wave he would remove them until the head archivist would thunder on and he would resume the comfortable position.

Tibbett and Crope, as brainy as they were uncouth, could as easily fall from debates of origin myths that predated the Oziad – dropping words like _terricolous_ into casual discussions, much to the amazement of Boq and Fiyero – to bantering about professional goals of being abducted by desert pirates. Some conversations inspired Fiyero to chip in, but other ones caused him to venture off into his own mind, thinking about green girls or phony Wizards or Vinkun laws.

Boq had interrupted such an instance, in which Fiyero was glazed over, staring at the ancient lozenged window panes as they misted over with small but relentless raindrops. He had interrupted Tibbett and Crope too, much to their amusement.

"I wish to meet with Galinda." He was wide-eyed, flummoxed at his own outburst, and he cleared his throat as boys often do to prevent cracking.

"Oh?" Fiyero said interestedly. "To what end?"

"In hopes that she will see me, from time to time."

"You minx," Tibbett said with a wink. "We've been waiting so long for this day."

"Fiyero, I don't want to step on your toes. I know you two have a relationship."

"We're just friends," Fiyero said. "I hold no claim to her."

"Oh good," Boq said, relieved. "Do you know if she thinks of me at all? Is it foolish that I seek her out?"

He had an idea, but he shrugged as if he didn't. "She hasn't mentioned you," he said truthfully, adding, "to me anyway."

"Of course she wouldn't," Crope said, tossing his brown hair in a talented imitation of the blonde beauty. "One does not speak of other men while flirting unless it is to incite jealousy!"

"Speaking of, Master Your Highness, why haven't you responded to her charms out of all the girls? She's a pretty thing."

"She's not my type," he answered, and once more Boq seemed comforted.

"You mean _perfect_ isn't your type?"

"Bollocks!"

"Shenanigans!"

"Bullshit!"

"I appreciate her as a friend," Fiyero said simply, and Crope and Tibbett made obscene noises at his copout and gave up their prying.

Crope decided to steer the conversation back to the decidedly more interesting option. "So tell us about this amusing campaign for the heart Galinda the Ice Queen."

"When I see her I'm so smitten with longing, it's like fire in my veins. I can't speak, I can't think!"

"I would probably work on those things if you intend on speaking with her," Fiyero said with a chuckle.

"So I have your support?" Boq asked, anxiously.

"Oh, why not."

The next day in Life Science, though he started off in his original seat, he climbed over the back of the chair in front of him and dropped into the one at Elphaba's side, causing her to squeak cutely in her surprise.

"Fiyero!" she said between clenched teeth. "What are you doing?"

"You're upset? I figured you would prefer this, given it would be harder to stare at you from here. Women are so hard to please."

She glared at him, not amused, and he decided to get right to business. "I thought you would like to know that Boq intends on asking Galinda out."

Elphaba snorted derisively. "That should be interesting. Why are you telling me?"

"After everything that happened with Nessa, I wanted to tell you myself that my involvement does not extend past simply knowing this rather funny bit of news and congratuloting Boq on finding his rubies."

"Thank you for that," she said, before making a face as his crude idiom registered in her head. She shook it away. "Poor Boq. Galinda still hasn't bothered to learn his name. It won't end well for him, you know."

"I'm aware."

"You are?"

"Sure, but who am I to tell him that?" he asked, and she gave him a look. "I'm not going to meddle anymore. I'm just going to act like I don't have any thoughts at all."

"Ah." She smiled at him. "Shouldn't be too difficult for you."

"Not at all."

"Perhaps I can help arrange this little meet, sooner rather than later, so as to get his heartbreak over with more neatly and entirely. If that's what is to happen," she added, as if to not seem mean. "How could I predict someone's affection?"

Fiyero held back a reaction at the question as he pondered the very thing about the girl at his side. She was hard to read. Still, he took the fact that she did not ask him to move seats as a sign of increased tolerance for him, which was a step in the right direction, and he resisted the urge to let their shoulders, elbows or knees rub together during the rest of the lecture.


	26. Chapter 25

**I've gotten a few questions of people wanting to know how many chapters there are, how much longer are you gonna make us wait for the romance, etc. Truth is, I don't know how many chapters there are to this story. When I set out to write this, I wanted to tell a different kind of story. I've written and published the standard fan fics before, with the structured, paced chapters, the intense, condensed buildup... I wanted this story to be different than those. I wanted it to read like a novel, have a slower burn. I can understand if that may make some of you want to jump ship, but I just have one question for you: What would Fiyero do? Pretty sure he would stick it out. Be like Fiyero.**

**Besides, our handsome swain always gets the girl, right?**

**Speaking of novels, this scene in particular takes a lot of direct inspiration from Gregory Maguire's. I couldn't resist. Enjoy!**

* * *

Boq had bothered with his clothes more than usual, shifting in his handsomest jacket and worrying about his repeatedly polished shoes. It took all of the influence Fiyero had to keep Boq from fixing his hair like the new look in the cafes, finally resorting to the sad truth that it made Boq look like a shocked Hedgehog.

Elphaba had arranged it so they would meet in the gardens by Crage Hall. Fiyero, mightiest stalker of the Thousand Year Grasslands, had climbed atop the nearby stable and through the poking branches of the closest pear tree, not too far from the bench on which Elphaba and Galinda waited. The leaves rustled against him as he sought a stable perch, and for a moment he thought a green face looking up at him. If she saw anything, she didn't acknowledge it, instead focusing on the approaching Munchkin.

"Well, my stars and garters, a visitor. What a surprise."

"Elphaba," Boq acknowledged informally to his childhood acquaintance with a little bow. "Good evening Miss Galinda. It was good of you to agree to meet with me."

"I'm pleased you are so taken with me, Boq," Galinda said, and Fiyero smirked at Elphaba's obvious coaching on his name. "I'm flattered." He couldn't see her from his roost, but Fiyero knew Galinda well enough to tell that she wasn't flattered at all, but humiliated.

"Oh, it thrillifies me to hear you say that—"

"But you have to understand that there can be no exclusivity between us," Galinda said, wasting no time. "Aside from the matter of feelings, there are too many social impediments."

"But…"

"We are from different _cultures_. You are Munchkinlander and I am Gillikinese, of the Upper Uplands! I'm expected to marry someone of good breeding."

"Like Fiyero Tiggular?" Boq asked, a little bitterly. Fiyero turned his head to see Galinda better but he could only see the curls of her head.

"Yes! _Precisely_. He and I are a perfect match. This is just how things are. I only agreed to come so I could tell you this in person. It only seemed fair."

"Please let me speak, if just for a minute. I won't deny that what you're saying; I too have a social pattern to conform to. But I didn't come here to propose marriage! Just to get together occasion. Still, I cannot lie: you overwhelm me with your beauty. You are the moon in a penumbral eclipse, the fiery pfenix in flight, the mystical sea—"

"This all sounds rehearsed to me," Elphaba said, and while Fiyero had encouraged Boq to ready himself beforehand, he had to agree. This was not going smoothly.

"I'm not much for poetry, but you're very kind." Galinda seemed perkier at the praise but her resolution had not wavered. "I'm sorry, but not in a million years."

"It's the age of daring," Boq said, and to Fiyero's incredulity he started reciting a paraphrase of the prince's advice to him on his first day: "It is the only time we have. We must live in the present. We are young and alive."

"I don't know if _alive_ quite covers it."

There was a harsh rapping sound at that; Fiyero could only assume Galinda hit Elphaba over her head with her satin fan, which she opened again with an elegant flip of her wrist. "Oh quiet Elphie, I can hardly hear myself think with your running commentary. I value your virtues Bi—_Boq_. You're clever and you're sort of, I mean to look at…"

"Handsome? Dashing?"

"Fun," Galinda decided, disregarding Elphaba's suggestions. "You're fun to look at."

"I'd give a lot to achieve fun," Elphaba told Boq supportively, about which Fiyero had to bite his lip.

"You'll find I am also persistent," Boq said, ignoring Elphaba. "I won't give up on our friendship, Miss Galinda. It means too much to me."

"Oh Boq, I don't mean to hurt you; it's not my nature." Elphaba probably only kept her mouth shut because of the manicured hand that seemed to be clutched tightly at the skin of her green elbow. "When I see you around, I will do the courtesy of at least of acknowledging you. Please be accepting of that."

"It's a start," Boq said, and having exhausted his many arguments, he bowed to the two girls and took his leave.

"Oh Elphie, you were horrible for arranging that. If that was because of Nessa…"

"Hardly," Elphaba said as they stood to depart. "He helps me with my research for Dr. Dillamond from time to time. I owed him enough to indulge his fantasy. It was only fair. And fun, too."

"You terrible mean thing."

"Go on, my sweet. I'll catch up." Elphaba loitered by the bench until Galinda was gone. She looked up directly at Fiyero, almost startling him from the tree branch on which he watched. "So much for not meddling."

"There was none of the sort. Just nosiness, which is an entirely different thing."

"I see," Elphaba said, her eyes glinting behind her glasses.

He swung down gracefully, dropping to his feet just shy of the lettuces. "How long did you know I was up there?"

"The whole time."

"I'm surprised you didn't rat me out."

"I didn't realize you would want me to. I could still inform Galinda about it if you'd like."

"I don't see why you should trouble yourself."

Elphaba gave that crooked smirk of hers. "Shouldn't you be off trying to tend to poor Boq? Bring an oil can; he could barely move by the time Galinda was done with him."

"Oh, the cure for him would be to bring him out to the pubs, get him slaughtered and send him home with an ugly barmaid, but I'm not best suited for that. The other boys will take care of him."

Her eyebrow arched up at that, her sly smile still in place. "You're not?"

They were being too flippant for him to figure out any way of admitting to how humdrum he had become, so instead he said, "Nope. As soon as I pull out my wallet to pay, the barmaids all want to come home with me."

She laughed lightly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Well, I do hope he will be all right."

"You're not mad at him? I assumed, because of your sister…"

"I know she's demanding. You might be wrong about how miserable she would have ended up with Boq, but wrong takes a long time to be proven. I only want her to be happy."

With that, she waved goodbye with a look he could not read.


	27. Chapter 26

**Short chapter, but Fiyero's going to get some insight on Elphaba's life. Hold out, however, for the next chapter is truly one of my favorites and it involves our beloved lovers having a legitimate conversation with one another. Review, and I have a very good feeling I'll be motivated to post that one early... **

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"Tell me about your childhood."

They were sitting at a local café they often frequented during the break following their law class. Nessa's wheelchair was parked opposite of him at the wrought-iron patio table, where a waitress had just brought them their drinks. She was stirring sugar into her tea; he never once heard the clink of her spoon against the porcelain cup until she gently dragged the edge against the rim and placed it on the saucer with graceful precision.

"Why do you ask?"

He smiled gently over the rim of his espresso, taking a moment before risking his tongue on the steaming liquid to say, "Well, you grew up in the governor's house, so obviously there's that parallel between us. We are both children of heads of state. I would just enjoy hearing a different version of things. What was it like for your and your sister?"

"It was quiet, mostly. Father sheltered us for a great deal of our time in Munchkinland, wishing not to burden us with his obligations. Still, Father liked to bring me out to his parties and assemblies, even if it was just for a little while, and I loved it so. I would revel in an opportunity to share my faith with others and learn more about the responsibilities I will have long down the road."

"What of your sister?"

"Father never allowed her to mingle. Can you just imagine? I shudder to think how she would behave in such circumstances. She's always been, well, the way she is."

"You don't mean green."

"No, of course not, though obviously that is the case as well. She always has to make such a to-do about everything! No, Father insisted that she keep out of the way, and that's how she likes it. Father kept her quiet with books. It was all he knew to do."

"Did you and she spend time together?"

"Naturally. She has always looked after me. I know it is because she feels guilty."

"What do you mean?"

"Elphaba faults herself for my condition. Father and Mother were desperate to avoid having another child like her – green and spoilt as she was – and so Mother chewed milkflowers as she carried me to prevent it from happening again. But I was born damaged, all because of her. She is aware of her blameworthiness."

"She has said this?"

"She hasn't needed to. She is my sister; she does not always need to utter things for me to know them."

"And you haven't told her otherwise?"

"I should lie simply to mollify her? It is what Father believes, and I trust Father."

"That's not fair."

"But it is, Fiyero. It's true. It is her doing. Had she not been green and vile I could have had legs that work."

"If you and your Father blame her for your condition, who is to blame for hers?"

"The Unnamed God's will is one that isn't always to be understood but is never to be questioned. Perhaps He felt it fitting."

What impossible standards, Fiyero thought to himself, putting his espresso cup down more forcefully than he meant to. The coffee splashed over the rim and burnt his fingers, and he pulled it to his mouth in agitation. Nessa handed him her napkin thoughtfully and he deflated at her kind gesture.

"Fabala understands, and so should you. At least respect that it is something about which she doesn't wish to discuss."

He sighed, acquiescent, and stared at the contents of his cup until it was safe enough to down in one swallow like a shot. Nessarose continued to silently sip her tea, and they settled into companionate quiet as they both settled into their own musings. Finally, Fiyero spoke, but with an attempt at whimsy following his previous outburst. "You know, regardless of causality, your situation isn't so terrible. I mean, consider that instead of having working arms you only had working legs?"

"I shudder to think."

"Or, even more tragic, a working body without a working brain! You all forget how bad I have it."

"You raise a valid point," Nessa said, hiding her smile behind her teacup.

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**Don't forget to review. :)**


	28. Chapter 27

**You can thank Ultimate Queen of Cliffies in particular for motivating me to post this a couple days sooner than I originally planned. Thank you to everyone else who also reviewed; each message you send is very special for me and brightens my days! I look forward to your thoughts on this one. **

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Fiyero had taken a liking to spending his time outside. It was reminiscent of his youth in the Vinkus and of rebellion of his future and a welcomed change from his miserable years spent indoors. While he spent his far too many sleepless evenings watching the stars from the roof of Briscoe Hall, he also enjoyed the shade of a specific pearlfruit tree by the Suicide Canal.

On one particular day, he worked his way through a nonfiction analysis of the Pleasure Faith, an extremist progressive religion. He wasn't a religious guy, but he had chosen the book because it held information on the Time Dragon, a mystical oracle and a tangible prophet in the form of a clockwork propaganda machine that, other than in occasional colloquial references, was a forgotten relic. While the Time Dragon was said to see "before and beyond and within the truth of time," the book didn't reveal anything about travelling through it.

A shadow fell across the page he was staring at and Fiyero looked up at the silhouetted figure above him. He didn't need to wait for her to speak to realize it was Elphaba.

"He reads."

Her hair was down today and fluttering in the wind. She removed one of the hands that was gripped on the strap of her book bag and brushed some of the unruly locks away from her eyes as she stared down at him.

"Does that surprise you?" Fiyero asked, leaning back in the grass on his elbows so he could see her face better.

"No, but Galinda would be disappointed. She's convinced you're above such behavior."

"If you don't tell her I won't," he joked. He had become so mellow, but it was true Galinda hadn't noticed. He felt the need to explain himself. "We wear different faces for different people, I guess."

"I'm afraid that is something I don't know much about. I am always a little too much for others."

She sat next to him in the grass and pulled out her lunch, and he turned to his side to look at her. Fiyero reached out to pluck one of the tart grapes she had in her hands for himself and, to his gladness, she didn't stop him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, popping the fruit into his mouth and offering her the leftovers of his cheese sandwich in payment. "Look at the way you are with Nessa in comparison to how you are with Horrible Morrible or the show you put on for others."

And her fugitive version had been different with him, somehow both gentle and powerful at the same time; vulnerable yet utterly secure. No one else in Oz had seen such a side of her, and all of that still existed in the girl at his side, whether she realized it or not.

She acted as though she didn't. "I don't put on a show."

"Oh come on," he said. "I've seen how you try frightening people who gawk at you too long. It's an amusing defense mechanism."

Between bites of grape, he kept seeing how she would glance at his sandwich until she finally seemed to cave and reach out for a piece. He gathered that not many people shared with her.

"It doesn't take much," she said, nibbling at the food. "All I have to do is look at someone too long and they go scurrying away." Just to prove her point, she stared down at him, clearly holding back a smile so she could still seem intimidating.

"I don't think you're scary at all."

She pretended to be insulted. "Not at all? I'll have to work on that."

He laughed and felt his heart swell with love. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching as an eager bird skimmed the smooth, glossy surface of the canal for its lunch, all the while still picking at their own shared meal.

"So what is Prince Fiyero, the man of many faces, reading?" He showed her the cover, watching her disbelief as she clapped the last of the breadcrumbs from her beautiful hands and took the dense tome from him. Her green fingers began flipping through the text, her eyes darting all around the old paper, scanning the words at impressive speed. "I didn't think you were a pfaither."

"I'm not. Don't get me wrong, I see the values of hedonism, but religiously I'm agnostic. I've spent too long watching as too many stupid and intelligent people alike blindly follow charismatic leaders in droves out of fear and blind trust. Churches are built on that foundation. I don't want to be a part of it."

"And spiritually? How do you identify?"

"Spiritually, I'm apathetic. I'm not going to be the one to decide what's really out there. I'll leave that to much smarter people than me." On the topic of smarter people, he considered her more closely. Despite his intimate connection with Elphaba, there was little he truly knew about her and his curiosity was piqued. "You don't share your sister's reverence for the divine or what-have-you," he remarked. "So what, Miss Elphaba, do you believe in?"

"I don't comprehend religion," she admitted. "I grew up being taught that theology was the fundament on which all other thought and belief was based. It was as if the early theologians were explorers of Oz, seeking out what they believed to be good and evil, except the maps were made of invisible stuff."

"Do you think good and evil exist?"

"I don't expect to know."

"So what do you believe in, then? Only what you can see?"

"After living my life the way that I have, I would hope that I would live my life judging things by more than their outward appearances. Though, I'll admit, I find myself hypocritical at times." She looked sheepish then, and their eyes locked. The smile he gave her was forgiving.

"You still haven't answered me."

"I still haven't found an answer," she said, and at his questioning look she continued, "Although if I am to be categorized, I'm certainly an atheist and an aspiritualist. Even as I child I doubted the Unionism with which my father tried raising me, and would read countless books trying to find an ounce of satisfying logic in the various religious theories available to me.

"Since arriving at Shiz, I've spent time aiding Dr. Dillamond in his research. Much of it involves manipulating lenses to view bits of tissue backlit on transparent glass, and the enhanced glimpses of organic life it reveals are nothing short of amazing. Naturally, seeing the structures of life like that puts all of the past assumptions into question and raises new ones. As I suggested before, all previous literature is phrased in Unionist terms and pagan terms before that, and they don't hold up to scientific scrutiny."

"It's interesting how the deity becomes passé but the attributes and implications of the deity linger."

"He thinks too," she quipped, her clever eyes shining over the frames of her glasses at him.

"That is still up for debate," he said easily.

She chuckled. "If that's so, explain your choice of reading."

"Researching a possible dissertation subject," he lied. "I'm interested in the subject of time and its dimensions."

She seemed intrigued. "What of it?"

"Well," he started, trying to piece together his own weedy theories, "is it merely linear, or does it take on a more complex shape? It seems to be a constant experience among people, regardless of nationality or gender or shape or size or breed, so is accurate to describe it as absolute and equable? We all seem to perceive time in the present, but can it be possible to comprehend other dimensions simultaneously, like present or future? Is time impervious to alteration? Is it possible to move through it?"

"Those are incredibly complex ideas," Elphaba said, her face calculating as she inspected his. "What inspired them?"

He shrugged off the question, unwilling to come up with a satisfactory fib. "The pfaithers venerate the Time Dragon. I was studying that, trying to figure things out. It seems that this Clock of theirs can peep through time, suggesting that it is possible to distinguish multiple dimensions of time at once, but I don't understand how. You study magic and science—what do you think?"

"I won't pretend as though I understand magic," she said slowly.

"Do you only desire to better control yours, then?" he asked. "How maddening it must be to have such singular access to something you don't understand."

This seemed to frustrate her. "Never mind me. What, specifically, do you wish to know?"

"If one can move through time, what happens when he arrives somewhere he's already been?"

"Do you wonder if he will watch his younger self frolic stupidly," she started, her cavalier comment hitting Fiyero far too close to home for his liking, "in his older form or sort of metaphysical entity?"

"I had been considering the possibility that he could inhabit his younger body," he suggested, nervously waiting for her reaction. She remained impassive but still thoughtful.

"I wonder what happens to his original consciousness if the new one replaces it?" she mused, which was something Fiyero really hadn't thought much about. "Is it pushed away, extinguished, or simply repressed? What an interesting prompt."

"Is it feasible for him to change the future? To make it different from the one he already experienced? And what would happen to the world he had come from and the people in it?"

"I suppose with every choice he would make different from that which he already made, he'd be creating an alternate reality."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that time would most likely take on a new path, but whether the old one would even exist anymore is hard to say. But then again, this is all from the perspective of one individual, so it seems quite illogical for the lives and consciousness and developments of millions of others to simply disappear because one man moved through time. So perhaps the two dimensions would exist parallel to each other."

He groaned. "This is making my head hurt."

Her laugh was melodic. "Then perhaps you'd be best picking a different dissertation topic."

"It seemed like such a good one too," he chaffed.

"If it really interests you, I'd consider asking Madame Morrible." He pulled a face at the suggestion and she snickered. "You don't like her. She's…not that bad."

"She is," Fiyero insisted, more serious now. "She's power-hungry and manipulative and yes, I don't like her."

"Those are strong opinions for a recent transfer. Despite my personal reservations, it seems as though you have formulated opinions on good and evil and found a place for our headmistress among them."

She may have been joking, but she hit the nail spot on. If there was someone to convince him of evil's existence, it would be Horrible Morrible. How could one become so crooked otherwise?

"Greed and evil are similar creatures, if not one and the same," he justified. Fiyero remembered something the Wizard told him once when the Captain of the Guard had approached him and inquired on a subject very similar to this— Why did people so easily differentiate between wonderfulness and wickedness since they were attributes everyone possessed? The Wizard's answer had been frighteningly astute for someone so corrupt, which Fiyero carried with him, and he relayed, "I have no interest in disregarding moral ambiguities as others do. I don't see the world in black and white. I'll judge people on their choices and why they were made."

"And from where do your judgments on Madame Morrible stem?"

"I knew her before I arrived here. She doesn't remember me or else she probably would not have allowed me in."

Elphaba seemed amused. "Yes, I've heard of your reputation. Are the stories true?"

"A gentleman doesn't say," he said, grinning.

"There are gentlemen at Shiz?" she jested. "I hadn't noticed."

His face settled into a look of contentment as he continued to gaze at her. He could spend every day like this, talking about philosophy or nothing at all with her, and he'd be happy. Once upon a time, his life was still and calm until she came into it – a huge commotion – but now the opposite was true: in every moment without her there was chaos within him, and as long as she was near he was at ease.


	29. Chapter 28

**The responses on the previous chapter were truly wonderful; thank you to everyone who took the time to comment. It seems my apprehension about posting a different kind of story on here wasn't necessary based on the insightful reviews. To reward you, how about some more Fiyeraba interaction? **

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Fiyero had another nightmare, but this one was different, and in some ways worse than his usual ones. He was on the ground, surrounded by the regulation boots of the Gale Force, which were coated in the bloody mud and dust of the Corn Basket, but he somehow knew the blood wasn't his. And that was when he heard her voice, a cry in the darkness unlike any he had ever heard from her. It was a cry of absolute agony and despair, and he whipped around to find Elphaba, limp and ragged and hung in between the iron grips of two of the soldiers. She was crying – he had never seen her cry like this – her eyes as red as the blood that soaked her torch-lit skin and hair. And no matter how he tried, he couldn't reach out to touch her or her captives. He could only watch as she was continually struck by the same rifle butts that were meant for him and he could only listen as her shrieks of pain grew louder in the night.

His eyes opened and he sat up, taking in the details of his Shiz dorm room until his heart rate no longer sounded in his ringing ears and his skin didn't burn so much. Throwing his sheets from his clammy legs, he walked to the window and threw it open to suck in the fresh air from outside, which was so cold in his lungs and against his bare chest it both invigorated him and nearly sent him diving into his warm bed.

He spent enough sleepless nights here at Shiz to recognize that dawn was approaching. He sighed; it was to be another long, confusing day. He acted with confidence but he questioned every decision he made, whether it was about how he answered a question in class or what he should say to people, be it Elphaba and Galinda or some random stranger, afraid of any consequences for the future he wanted.

He tried to block out the lingering images of a dying Elphaba from his mind. His nightmare last night was particularly upsetting. His usual dreams of his own bludgeoning were a direct result of a decision he had made to spare Elphaba any physical harm, yet his mind rebelled against his heart and made him witness it in his dreams. Fiyero still felt agonized from it, and he tried to think of law lectures or discus or pigeons—anything that could help distract him from the visions of Elphaba dying that still looped in his imagination. By this time the minutiae of the nightmares usually began disappearing from his memory, but dreams like the one from which he had just awoken had a habit of staying with him longer, despite his fervent desire to be free of them or perhaps because of it.

He surely was misplacing his mind, for not only was he plagued by horrifying thoughts of Elphaba, his still-incoherent mind was telling him that Elphaba was curled up on one of the bluestone benches three stories below, the overhanging lamp above the walkway revealing her irregular breaths in the form of mist. But the longer he stared at the beautiful, messy raven head down below him, the calmer he felt, for Elphaba truly was there.

His back was kept warm by the old radiator in his room, but his front was being assaulted by the nippy night air; she must have been freezing. Suddenly determined, he dressed quickly, pulling a shirt over his head without even tucking it in to swiftly buttoned pants, slipping his boots on and grabbing two coats on his way out the door.

He could see her shivering as he approached her from behind. Courtesy dictated he could make a noise to inform her of his presence, and habit had him opening his mouth to say something witty, but he had only awoken five minutes prior and the wit wasn't there yet. So he simply walked around the bench and held out the extra coat for her to take.

If she was surprised she didn't act it. She simply looked up at him and, equally wordlessly, took the jacket and wrapped it around her folded, lanky body. She looked as bad as he felt, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt in the bad lighting of the predawn morning.

"I guess that whole 'handsome' thing takes some work," she said, giving him a quick once over.

He grunted, not wanting to really think about what direction his hair was going or what strange things his facial muscles were doing when he wasn't paying attention, and he dropped down on the bench inelegantly. A moment too late he realized that she said he was handsome, which would normally have been a great thing to call her out on.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I was, but then I woke up," he said, marveling at how gross his voice sounded.

"That's normally how it goes," she quipped.

There was something off about her, but under the dim artificial glow Fiyero couldn't figure it out. She was slumped forward and curled up like a jackknife, neither of which was exactly unusual, and despite her general expressiveness he found it impossible to read her (which was definitely normal). Compared to the state she had been in his dream, she was positively perfect but Fiyero knew, without a doubt, that at that moment she was anything but.

Her eyes flittered through the fruit and shade trees of the expansive lawn in front of him, which were only visible to Fiyero because they were just extra dark masses in the blackness. Could she see more than he could? When they were in the forest together all those weeks ago (Had so much time really passed?), her senses were extremely keen, more so than his because of her time alone in the wilderness. But that was a different time and place. In some ways, it had been a completely different woman.

No, that wasn't really true at all, he realized. Either way, Elphaba had an ardent fire about her that drew him in like he was but a moth, covetous and inconsequential, even in the middle of the night when he could have been warm and safe elsewhere. Not to mention he thought she was breathtaking in such a setting, whether it was moonlight shining through colossal, ancient trees that was illuminating her features or just some crummy streetlight in the middle of campus with leaves rustling against each other in the distance.

He cleared his throat and tried that whole speaking thing again. "What about you? Why aren't you in bed? Or inside, for that matter?"

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, sparing him a quick, guilty glance before her eyes fell down to her green hands, which were gray in the shadows. It was then he noticed the folded piece of parchment there, the corners of which were starting to curl and wear like her fingers had been worrying them. He looked at her questioningly, and when her dark irises locked on his, she stared at him tensely and stubbornly, but then she let out a startling puffing sigh like she was caving to an interrogation. "It's a letter from my father."

Fiyero frowned. He didn't know much about Frexspar Thropp, and what he did know he did not like. He knew that the man fiercely favored his youngest, weakest daughter, something both girls had confirmed in their own ways. Elphaba only mentioned it when discussing what was, in his mind, her rightful inheritance of Munchkinland's governance; she was brief and concise but there were so many layers to her words that it had Fiyero reeling for days, wondering about Elphaba's home life. Nessarose, on the other hand, was a walking (er, rolling), talking billboard for her father's affection. She wore her jeweled shoes with immeasurable pride and quoted her father on a weekly basis, usually in support of whatever ideal she had taken from him or some kind thing he had said in support of her at one point or another.

And then there was that story about the milkflowers. Anytime he remembered Nessa's telling of it, it was as though one of Elphaba's supernatural balls of fire rolled around in his gut.

In spite of his hatred, however, Frexspar the Asshole was still her parent, and her one and only at that. His frown deepened in concern. "Is something wrong? Is he sick?"

She seemed startled that he would ask that, but in the future from whence he came Frexspar had only a couple dozen months left to live. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption.

"No," she said quickly. "It's not like that at all."

It was too confusing a moment to know if he should be relieved, assuming the death was fated anyway. "Then what is it?"

"It seems so petty now." But she handed him the letter anyway and stared to the east, as if needing or willing the sun to rise, leaving him facing her loose, messy plat. He unfolded the paper. The lamp above them wasn't particularly bright, but it was enough to read the long, cursive writing that did not look too dissimilar to Elphaba's.

_Elphaba,_

_Once again I seem to be put in a position to remind you about your purposes there at Shiz. You are there solely to care for Nessarose. Not only did you fail in that by not rooming with her as required, you seem to be forgetting your responsibilities with these useless endeavors of yours. _

_Every moment you waste aiding that Goat professor is another moment your sister suffers alone. If what you say is true, then not only are your efforts in vain once the limited funding for the research finally diminishes, but working with any Animal like you are will only make problems and life is already hard enough on your sister. Needless to say, you will not have my support, neither personally nor financially. Is it not enough that you are attending university in the first place? Be grateful, girl._

_Most importantly, I abhor your pursuance of sorcery, of all studies! I will be writing to your Head to express my disappointment. You swore to me, and to your sister, when you agreed to accompany her to Shiz that your little outbursts would stop, and instead you are seeking to exploit them? It's unnatural and evil. Magic is sleight of hand of the devil and an affront to the way you were raised. It's easy to turn your nose up to the Unnamed God as you're doing when it was He who gave you one. _

_You're acting childish and your behavior is shameful. You will straighten up, mind your sister, and stop your foolishness. Remember your place, Elphaba, or I'll be forced to step in and remind you._

That was it. He turned it over, hoping for perhaps a postscript that held even a positive fragment of a sentence for the wonderful girl next to him, but there was nothing else.

"He didn't sign it," Fiyero muttered, feeling so sick from reading the letter that he wanted to vomit.

"He didn't need to," Elphaba said dully. Finally, she turned and met his gaze. Her chin was held high, as if in defiance of the words from her father, but she couldn't disguise the utter sadness in her eyes. "I thought he would be proud of me. I wanted him to see that Madame Morrible and Dr. Dillamond both see me as someone _valuable_, as someone who can make good in this world." She laughed, both bitterly and self-loathingly. "I don't know why I care so much. I should know better, shouldn't I? Yet still I try to please him. Sometimes I wonder what kind of response I would get from him if I signed my letters with Nessarose's name. No doubt it would be more supportive. But would it mean anything to me, finally having his approval, if it really was never intended for me?"

"There's only one way to find out," Fiyero suggested. Elphaba turned to him sternly, one of her thin eyebrows raised at him, but he wasn't discouraged. "If nothing else it could be a good laugh. '_Dear Father, I love sorcery and conical hats and I have midnight rendezvous on public benches with wild Winkies—'"_

"Oh, enough," she groaned.

"I wasn't done," Fiyero said, before adding, "'—_and I think you're a right git. Love your pet, Nessa.'"_

He could tell his idea pleased her somewhat, but she didn't laugh; no doubt the contents of the letter were far too heavy on her heart to feel so frivolous. "Shouldn't it be enough that Nessarose is well?" she asked him crankily, suddenly springing to her feet and pacing in front of him. "That the head of the college herself has taken it upon herself to see that Nessarose is properly cared for? Whenever Morrible isn't available she leaves her nasty little tik-tok servant to tend to my sister, who assures me that despite being a vile little gadget it assists her well. Does it not matter to him that I am with her _every day_, morning and night, often being told not to fuss over her so much?"

"It should."

"And why am I even talking to you about this?" she asked, throwing her hands in the air wildly between her long strides. He opened his mouth to retort but realized he was too tired to take it personally, so instead he waited for her to calm down and for the mania to leave her eyes. When it did, Elphaba's attention settled on him, and her dark gaze bore into him with an unnerving intensity. "You never talk about your father."

He nodded slowly. "That's true."

"What is your relationship with him like?"

Fiyero didn't know how to answer. There was a reason he never really talked about his father and it was because he never really thought deeply about the man, and he knew that was mutual. Ever since he arrived back at Shiz, reevaluating his responsibilities to the Vinkus, he found himself wondering more and more. But old habits die hard it seemed, for the stressful train of thought was usually disrupted by some sort of internal self-protection he had developed over the years.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be prying."

"No, it's fine. I just don't know how what to say. We don't exactly chat much. Or at all, really."

"I'm sorry," she said, truly.

He tossed up a hand indifferently, as if to say "it is what it is", but she wasn't satisfied with that and wouldn't remove her stare. He felt as though if she kept at it, she might figure out how to look inside of him and he had more secrets than basic daddy issues he wasn't ready to share quite yet. So he scratched at his stubble and searched for words.

"I gave up on trying to make him proud years ago." Working to please his father never paid off when he was a boy. He was too distracted. Then, in all of Fiyero's rebellion in the fancy colleges he was expected to attend, he found the opposite behavior did not gain him the attention he wanted any better. Soon he stopped trying all together, and discovered that still the results did not change. "I don't recommend it as a course of action."

Even earning captaincy didn't really affect their relationship. Fiyero suspected the decision upset his parents more than anything, for he was devoting his attention to serving a part of Oz with which he should hold no loyalty. But he didn't do it for them, or for Glinda, or even for himself; he had done it for the fiery green woman in front of him.

That's when it occurred to him— this letter, Elphaba, her destiny: his presence in this time would not have greatly affected Elphaba's communication with her father so early in the semester, unless it was in regards to Nessarose's romantic life, which wasn't even referenced in the note. So he had to presume that Elphaba would have received probably this very letter the last time around and perhaps even would have sat on this very bench, contemplating it, and still pursued her dreams despite it.

"You don't plan on letting this stop you, do you?" It was phrased as a question, but his realization had him stating the words, knowing them to be absolutely true. Her lips upturned slightly at that and he felt a sense of relief that this moment of doubt would not hold her back. Her fire would not be smoldered so easily.

But was that a good thing? Should he even hope to stop history from repeating itself?

"No. One day Oz will be celebrating me, and when that day comes, he'll have no other option than to admit that I deserve it."

She stepped forward then, scattering her own misty breath with her slender body and the coat she whipped off of her shoulders to give back to him. "Thank you, Fiyero," she said, and he suspected she meant more than him sharing with her an outer coat. He reached out and pushed the green hand that clutched the collar away from him; her fingers were ice cold but his own seemed to erupt with an old, familiar heated current the moment it touched hers.

"Hold onto it," he said, wanting to allow his fingertips to linger on her knuckles, but he felt weighted down by too many thoughts and his hand fell clumsily from hers.

"I couldn't," she said, her voice too young and soft for someone who would become the poster girl for evil. She took it in both hands, running a thumb over the fine Gillikin-woven Vinkun wool like it was something she had rarely seen up close.

He stood up, taking the jacket from her and putting it around her shoulders. "I insist. I have more than I need." She pulled it around herself tighter and he smiled at how cute she seemed in his oversized garment. "Are you going to try to sleep before class?"

"Perhaps I might," she said. "Are you?"

"I don't think I could," he admitted, for too many reasons than he could mention. "Do you want me to walk you back?"

She glanced up to the building just a few hundred feet away and smirked cleverly. "Do you actually think anyone else is crazy enough to be awake at this hour? Crazy enough to bother _me_?"

"You mean other than me?" he asked with a lopsided grin and a shrug. "You never know."

She returned the expression. "Good night, Fiyero," she said, and as her dark form disappeared into the shadows, he continued to watch her until he saw her reappear under Crage's front light and into the dorms, telling himself it was because it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

The next day when she arrived in class, he was engrossed in composing a letter addressed to Kiamo Ko – on the slopes of Knobblehead Pike, the Great Kells of the Vinkus, specifically – and she didn't interrupt him when she sat down, but he peeked up to see her give him a supportive smile.

_Dear Father,_

_I know that it has been a while since we've talked. I know I'm not the son you want me to be. I sometimes have thought that you haven't been enough of a father either. But regardless of any of that, I trust that you love me no matter my faults or perceived failures as I love you and I hope that one day you'll be able to respect and trust me as I do you._

_In the past, I've acted selfishly, defiantly, aimlessly. It's reflected poorly on you as well as our country, and I want to apologize for it. I need you to know that I've changed. It is my purpose in writing this letter. I could understand your disbelief in such a statement, for it was only a short time ago that I had arrived at a new school after being kicked out of my old one, but it is the utter, understated truth that so much has happened since then that has influenced not only the person I am but also the one I want to be. _

_This will be the last school address from which you will receive any letters, and I promise none of which will involve a notice of expulsion. My antics stop here. A year from now I will walk the lawns outside of Ozma Towers here at Shiz to receive my diploma, and, as of a few weeks ago, the diploma will reflect a focus on Ozian law in preparation for my inheritance of the Arjiki throne. _

_Most important of all, I will make a difference along the way. I'm going to devote myself to the ones I love with everything I am. I'm going to change the future for the better, and I implore your counsel about how to best do so. Hopefully I'll finally be the kind of man that you can be proud of._

_I love you Father. Take care and kiss Mother and the girls for me._

_Your son,_

_Fiyero_

He spent most of class staring at it, only stopping to write down notes when he heard the tap of Dr. Dillamond's pointer on the blackboard, meaning he was referencing a specific fact worth noting. He wondered if the letter was too dramatic or if it was overly sensitive. He pondered if he was being clear and eloquent enough. Most importantly, he hoped if it was believable.

Doubtful.

"Want someone to proofread that for you?" a voice cut in, distracting him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Elphaba pulling her bag over her shoulder, definitely appearing more tired than usual, and staring down at him.

"Oz no. I don't even think I want anyone to read it at all."

"You should send it anyway," she said meaningfully as she left.

So he did.


	30. Chapter 29

Fiyero was out with Boq and the two Queens boys at a small, hole-in-the-wall pub just across the canal from Scholar's Hill. It was close enough to the Three Queens housing to be popular with the students who knew about it, but this evening was a school night and thus most of the boys in the dorms were preparing for midterms.

Fiyero didn't really care about midterms, knowing he'd successfully cram for them when the time came, and he had convinced Boq, Tibbett, and Crope that they needed a night off for their mental health. They split a pitcher of malt beer and chewed the fat, so to speak, over rich pot roast and skewered lamb shanks, the discussion ranging from the newest shape of Boq's growing hair to the reason he insisted on dinner, which was to learn more about Dr. Dillamond's research.

Fiyero brought it up casually and enjoyed the aftermath of his topic change when Boq asked the three of them for help with research. Tibbett and Crope jumped at the invitation, insisting that such a foray required disguises consisting of powdered wigs, opera cloaks and faux eyewear— all of which were available to those who were willing to break into Three Queens Student Theatrical and Terpsichorean Society's sizeable collection of props (which of course they were). "I don't think espionage drag is necessary," Boq said, much to Crope and Tibbett's disappointment, but they agreed anyway.

Fiyero did too; apparently, all it involved was looking through dusty old books, something that he had being doing a great deal more lately than usual. As the semester progressed, he still accompanied the boys while they worked in the Three Queens library, but rather than oil leather bindings and transcribe faded scrolls, Fiyero would often disappear into the stuffy stacks of science books, pulling down moldy volumes full of physics terminology he could barely pronounce, let alone understand, in hopes that any of them alluded to his particular situation.

It seemed as though travelling through time was a singular occurrence. At least, the monks whose scientific analyses lined the shelves had never come across it; neither had the published academic researchers of science and mathematics in the Briscoe Hall library. Crage Hall library, with its sizable selection of texts regarding religion and magic (fluff topics compared to those determined more important that filled the boys' libraries, like economics, law and agriculture), was seeming like his best bet for answers, assuming there were any to be found. It just wasn't easy for a guy like Fiyero to hang out peacefully in a library full of girls during exam time.

"What kind of work does Elphaba do for Dr. Dillamond?" Fiyero wanted to know, only sparing Boq the shortest of glances as he lined up his shot on the dartboard. Crope had challenged him earlier in the hour to a game of darts, but he was so bad and Fiyero was so good that they gave up playing for points. Instead, Crope settled simply on trying to get one of his darts in the bull's-eye while Fiyero was challenging himself to make shapes with his.

"Looks things up, like I do."

"Is that all? She spends most of her lunch hours helping him."

"No, that's not all," Boq answered as Crope's throw missed the board completely. "She's a secretary, a scribe."

"I suppose his hooves would create a challenge for a hobby like calligraphy."

"It's impossible," the Munchkin said in response to Tibbett's comment, "so she takes dictation for him and files things. So I wouldn't get on her bad side, given she's probably has the responsibility of grading our work by now."

"I'll keep that in mind." Fiyero carefully aimed and sent off another dart, which landed with precision to close off a square around the center target. "What of the research? Is he making progress?"

"Yes!" Boq exclaimed giddily, and part of Fiyero regretted not bringing this topic up with Elphaba so he could see her face light up instead. "He keeps making breakthroughs, and Elphaba insists that he's on the verge of founding a whole new branch of knowledge."

"She mentioned he's having trouble getting funding." That wasn't entirely a lie; she had mentioned it, just not to him. Still, it was Frexspar the Godly Governor's letter that motivated him to learn more about Elphaba's work with Dillamond.

"It always comes down to money, doesn't it? Every day's findings provoke a hundred new questions, but what can be done about those without the means?"

"And let me guess: those with the means aren't willing to provide them given the nature of the research."

"Naturally."

"What a shame."

"It's your turn Your Highness," Crope said over the frothy rim of his mug.

Fiyero, having mostly forgotten about their game, aimed and snapped a dart at the board where hit it dead center, sticking out in the middle of his square. "X marks the spot."

"Show off!" Crope said with a groan as unattended beer foam dribbled off his chin.

"It's all in the wrist," Fiyero told him.

"And you should have plenty of experience exercising that," Tibbett called to his best friend. Crope's response was to cover Tibbett in the rest of his drink.

Fiyero sighed overdramatically as the alcohol pooled on the dirty ground at their feet. "What a waste."


	31. Chapter 30

**Cheers to Indy's Green Hat for guessing correctly!**

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Fiyero stared at his hand for a moment as it hovered, still, in front of room 216 of the Life and Social Science building late one afternoon. His skin was dry, near to cracking, and covered with little blond hairs, which may have been manly but certainly wasn't princely. He didn't care about that. He was taking a moment to be sure this decision was a smart one, for in this timeline it was a new one and new decisions put him on edge.

He knocked.

He checked over his shoulder, paranoid a bit that this little visit of his would be public knowledge if anyone saw him. Sure, he was here on a secret mission and everything, but he also had a reputation to uphold and hanging outside a professor's office like this on a Friday evening would just look bad.

He heard a bleat from the other side of the wood and Fiyero took the cue, pushing down on the door handle and slipping inside.

"Good evening Doctor," Fiyero said courteously. "I hope it is all right that I come in."

"Master Fiyero, this certainly is a surprise," Dr. Dillamond said.

He stood up from behind an enormous desk, where stacks of essay seemed to slide amongst each other to Fiyero's eyes and an interesting device the prince recognized as a dictation machine sat askew at one corner. Fiyero strode forward and held out his hand, in which the old Goat placed his hoof politely.

Fiyero was caught off-guard by its smooth surface and he vaguely wondered what the Goat equivalent of a manicure was. Goaticure? Oz, that sounded offensive in his head.

"I'm not used to having you in my office," Dillamond rasped.

Fiyero shrugged at this. "That's because I've never been to a professor's office before."

"Well, as flattering and disconcerting I find that, I'm sorry to tell you my office hours ended over an hour ago. Perhaps if you're having trouble with one of my classes we can speak about it on Monday." As if to prove his point, the Goat began pawing at the papers on his desk to drag them into his attaché case, but a couple of the papers missed and ended up on the floor. He bleated something that sounded distinctly like a swearword.

Fiyero rounded the table and picked up the papers before Dillamond had the chance, taking the moment with his head down to suck in a steeling breath. "My business here has nothing to do with my classes."

"No? Perhaps it should be. Your last essay on prescientific theory left something to be desired," Dillamond said firmly over the lenses of his reading glasses, clapping the papers between his hooves and turning to slip it into his bag. "Deciphering the disquisitions of early unionists and pagans is important in understanding how current scientific theories came to be—"

"Yes sir, I understand that."

They stood together. Dr. Dillamond was eyeing him curiously, and Fiyero tried not to allow himself be unsettled by the square pupils focused so intently on him. He gripped the strap of his shoulder bag tightly.

"Then why are you here, Master Fiyero?"

"I'm here about your research, Dr. Dillamond. Might we sit?"

"My research?" he said, surprised. His goatee quivered, perhaps from irritation. "Master Fiyero, don't think that you are the first one to come down here to harangue me about my research. It is easy for those in your position to scorn the plight of my kind, but—"

"Woah, hold up Professor," Fiyero said, gesturing defensively in front of him. "You misunderstand me. I am on your side."

"You are? My sincerest apologies to you then," he said, taking his chair while Fiyero did the same on the other side of the grand old desk. "I hope you'll understand. Periodic antagonism is just another challenge I constantly face in investigating such a controversial topic. I imagine the stress has taken its toll on me more than I would like to admit."

"That is why I am here, sir," Fiyero said. "I understand that you have had difficulty obtaining funding."

"Ah, yes, an unfortunate truth. Prior to the semester, the academic board – with pressure from the EC no doubt – threatened to pull my research grants if I didn't change the nature of my research. Naturally, the school is no longer backing my work."

"How are you affording your work then? Donations?"

"Dear boy, nobody is foolish enough to associate themselves financially to the work I'm doing, not when such things such as the Banns on Animal Mobility are making their way through the Hall of Approval. I've exhausted my personal savings in an effort to keep moving forward in my work. I believe in what I'm doing."

"Many people do."

"That's largely because those that do, understand what it is like to be underprivileged and disadvantaged by society. They're not in any position to provide me anything besides volunteering their free time to assist me, as your friends Miss Elphaba and Master Boq have been kind enough to do."

"I have heard from Boq that you have managed to make strides in your work in the last couple of months."

"Theoretical ones, yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm limited in my ability to verify my findings, though I imagine that perhaps in a couple of years I might be able to stage the necessary trials to do so. Still, what little I have been able to ascertain has the potential to refute many widely purported assumptions about Animals, which could, in the long run, bolster furtherance and the mindfulness needed to contest the Animal Banns. It will all be of little good if I have to indefinitely suspend my research, but until that day I will keep toiling on."

"You know as well as I do that the Wizard will silence you before long."

"Ah." The Goat closed his eyes, one of his hooves scraping across the hardness of his desk sullenly. "Yes, I'm aware of that fact."

"It's not a matter of if, but when," Fiyero asserted, leaning forward with his forearms on the desk in front of him so he could see Dillamond's unsettling Goat eyes more clearly behind his reading glasses. "Doctor, if such a fool existed who _was_ in a position to back you, would you be able to accelerate your work? Say, by the end of the semester?"

A rough guttural sound of disbelief escaped Dillamond, and he struggled as he said, "Well, yes, hypothetically—"

Fiyero stood and taking his shoulder bag in his hand, he dumped out its contents out over the huge desk, where bundles of paper currency cascaded over one another and over Dillamond's uneven stacks of documents, some nearly slipping off of the surface entirely. The noises the Goat made as he gaped, open-mouthed, at the colorful Ozian currency spread across his work surface could only be described as warbling, with the trills interrupted by small choking sounds as he attempted to find his words.

"Master Fiyero!" he said, standing up to look the young man in the eye. "My dear boy, the reform this could bring! For a deprived scholar such as myself, at this moment possibilities seem endless! Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"Yes, sir. This is something about which I have given much thought."

"I-I cannot begin to express my gratitude. To think, I could actually _pay_ my research assistants now, should they accept it! They will be so overjoyed to hear what you have done for us—"

"Actually, Dr. Dillamond, I have conditions," Fiyero said. "No one will know the source. I wish to remain an anonymous benefactor."

"I can understand your need for secrecy. Public support of this cause is likely to be severely damaging to your status in Oz."

"I don't care about that."

The Doctor gave him a look that was far too keen for Fiyero's liking. "Do you wish me to keep this from Miss Elphaba as well?"

"_Especially_ from her."

He scoffed lightly in incomprehension, but nodded nonetheless. "You know, students take their role as an audience member in their classrooms so seriously that they truly underestimate how much their educators see of them, as though we aren't at the front of the classroom staring back."

"Sir?"

"Your fondness for Miss Elphaba is not lost on me, even if it may be on her."

"Oh." He had no idea how uncomfortable he would be talking about his love life until this moment. "Right."

"I do have to wonder if you're doing this all for her."

"I'm doing it for Oz, and no other reason," Fiyero said. The prince sighed heavily through his nose. "However, I would be lying if I said it wasn't _because_ of her."

He gave Fiyero a knowing look. "Then why conceal from her the truth? I can imagine if anything would warm her to you it would be this."

"I won't have some debt of gratitude be the basis of any rapport we may have. No—she will remain in the dark about this, and that is my one condition."

"If you insist."

"It is in your interest if you do not go around telling people of this either, beyond your trusted few. There are those at Shiz loyal to and in contact with the Wizard who are best kept in the dark. Should you manage to carry on your research as if nothing has changed, you have until just before the semester's end. Then the Wizard's men will come for you anyway and any chance at your reform will be over."

"How do you know this?"

"I have connections to the Palace," Fiyero said evasively. "The Mobility Banns will come to fruition within the year and more will follow without the proper opposition. Let us be that opposition."

"I will get started immediately," he said seriously. "And I will offer you updates on our progress, should it interest you."

"Very good," he said, taking the Goat's hoof and shaking it once more. "Take care, Dr. Dillamond. I shall see you on Monday."

"You as well, Master Fiyero. Before you go, keep in mind what I said about prescientific theory. The importance of it cannot be understated. You should consider reviewing it over the weekend."

There was a certain gleam in his eyes that made Fiyero consider some sort of subtext. The answer came to him from an unpleasant forgotten memory from years before. "Son of Kumbricia!" he cursed. "We're going to have a pop quiz on Monday, aren't we?"

"That you are," he said. "Don't believe this means that I will offer you any other preferential treatment after this. My grades cannot be bought."

"I hadn't expected any. But, just for argument's sake, I did pay a lot," Fiyero said rascally as he departed, getting a half-hearted harrumph in return.


	32. Chapter 31

**I'm sorry for the delay.**

**And you're welcome for this. ;)**

* * *

"…and I feel that if only the Wizard _knew_ about the Animals' oppression that maybe things will change."

"I see your point, I really do," Fiyero told Elphaba as they met under his favorite pearlfruit tree to share their lunches once again. He waved a stick of celery about as he spoke, using it as a bit of a distraction as he carefully constructed his thought. "I just want to know why you think the Wizard isn't already aware of it. He is all-powerful after all, omniscient and all of that."

"No man who calls himself 'wonderful' could allow such travesty should he know about it."

"He's also called '_terrible'_, if you remember."

"Terrible is just another word for fearsome, and that's something determined by the object rather than the subject. That's beside the point. The hardship on the Animals is more than can be borne. It's forced repatriation, it's chattelization! If only he could see the sorrow. This is not merely youthful outrage or untrammeled emotion, it's a response to unquestionable corruption in the system—"

"I'm not disagreeing with you on the issue, only on this—this piety of yours."

"_Piety_?"

"Yes, piety," he challenged, poking his crunchy baton into her side playfully. She swatted it away, vexed. "How is your reverence to the Wizard any different than Nessarose's for the Unnamed God?"

She seemed appropriately affronted. "For one the Wizard actually _exists_."

"Does he?"

"This is the leader of our country, not some invisible idol."

"I think he's both, vaguely described so as to be concretely interpreted as any individual pleased."

"I think you're ridiculous," she said, yanking the celery stalk from his lazy hand. "You seem to detest two of the people I've come to admire—Madame Morrible and now the Wizard of Oz himself. Do you share other strong opinions about anyone else, or do you reserve them for authority figures?"

"Ho," he laughed. "So you're devaluing my attitude with a boring diagnosis? 'Issues with authority'?"

"Is it such a stretch?"

"Perhaps not, but you can't deny that there isn't something fishy about Horrible Morrible. And in case you missed the pun, I was implying that I think she looks like a giant carp."

Elphaba's wry smirk was delightful. "Yes, I caught that."

"Hello dearests," they heard, having been too engrained in their debate to notice Galinda's approach. They both smiled up to the light pink figure whose fingers wiggled adorably in greeting at them. "I noticed you from across the lawn and thought I'd come over. Might I join you?"

"Only if you have food to contribute," Fiyero said with a stern tone, picking up another stalk of celery to make his point and waving it goofily at her. "It is our only rule."

"Is that so?" she asked Elphaba. The green girl just shrugged drolly. "I didn't bring anything."

"Then I'm sorry, you're not allowed."

"What if I gave you a knuckle-sandwich?" Galinda said sweetly.

Fiyero raised an amused eyebrow at Elphaba, who merely said in Galinda's defense, "Sandwiches are food."

"I guess it counts then," Fiyero said, patting the ground next to him. "Pull up some grass."

"Thanks plenty," she said, bouncing forward and dropping with impossible grace between them with her skirt draping attractively around her. How did she do that? "Now, fill me in on everything you two have to talk about."

"Fiyero was just saying that my admiration of the Wizard is little better than radical, religious zeal."

"Ooh Fiyero, aren't you a cheeky thing?" Galinda teased. "And you didn't hit him, Elphie?"

"I'm still considering it," she said, picking up the apple he brought her and biting into it. The sparkle in her eyes over the red fruit was a definite turn-on, and when she wiped a dribble of juice from her sharp chin with the back of her hand, he had to start counting leaves on the branches above him to keep calm.

"It's not like Fiyero meant it anyway, Elphie," Galinda pacified unnecessarily. "He's just—"

"No, I meant it."

"Oh," Galinda said with faux absentmindedness. "At least this is a nice place to dig your own grave."

"It's okay, Galinda. It doesn't bother me that much."

"I'm actually on Galinda's side with this one," Fiyero said, too intrigued at this point to notice as she took another juicy bite of her lunch. "You're taking my criticisms strangely well."

"Everyone is welcome to their opinions."

"Nuh uh. Something's up. You're in a strangely good mood; you're never this agreeable."

"Oh Elphie, you didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it at all, Galinda, so no."

"Talk about what?"

"But it's _Fiyero_," Galinda said with emphasis. "You can trust him! He'd be so thrillified for you!"

"Absolutely!" Fiyero agreed. "Uh, why am I thrilled? What are you two on about?"

Galinda continued to glare at Elphaba until she finally sighed, turning to look at him. "There was a generous donation to Dr. Dillamond's research. Dillamond could hardly contain himself as he told me. Tremolo, vibrato, sostenuto— all of these fail to describe how he sang in his excitement!"

"I'll take your word for it," Galinda said. "I don't know what those words mean any more than I'd like to imagine him singing."

"That's fantastic, Elphaba. From whom was the endowment?" Fiyero asked casually, stealing the apple from her hand to have a bite.

"I don't know!" she admitted, gesturing so excitedly it was as if she hadn't noticed him take the fruit from her at all. "Dr. Dillamond says the money was left in his office with nothing but a note, imploring haste and secrecy. Does it even matter?"

"Of course it does, Elphie! There are proper responses to these sorts of things! Etiquette and such. For instance, it is in good form to send a thank you note…"

"Forget the note," Elphaba said. "I would kiss them if I could." Fiyero started choking on the apple at this, gasping and gagging and sputtering. Elphaba calmly leaned forward to swat him a couple of times on the back, continuing, "The donation gives Dr. Dillamond the chance to present admissible evidence to the Hall of Approval to prevent the Mobility Banns from gaining further traction – Are you all right, Fiyero? You're as red as a Quadling – and maybe it would be enough for me to approach the Wizard to intervene on the behalf of the repressed Animals in Oz…which could prove Fiyero wrong about his virtuousness. It'd be a win-win-win situation."

"Oh Elphie, is it really necessary to flaunt your rare optimism while the poor man is suffocating to death?"

"He's fine," Elphaba said, though she sounded unconvinced. "Aren't you?"

"Swell," Fiyero wheezed. Once he could catch his breath, he asked, "Would you really kiss them?"

"Oh, I don't know, I just said it. Maybe."

"Don't say that Elphie! What if they are old and ugly?"

"Yeah, what if they're ugly?" Fiyero teased.

"Looks don't matter to me."

"And so if they were extremely handsome that wouldn't make a difference either?"

"That's a valid point," Galinda said to him. "What if they looked like Fiyero?"

"Yes, Elphaba, what if they looked like me?" Fiyero grinned as alluringly as he could manage, even though he could sense his face still flushed from his recent lack of oxygen. "Or better yet, what if it was me? Would you want to practice?"

"You two are hilarious."

"She'd probably fair better if they looked like the Wizard," Fiyero said to Galinda.

"Whatever he looks like."

"We'll just say that it is the Wizard, regardless. She'd be all over him."

"Why are you two so quick to assume it's a man?"

Galinda's eyes went wide. "You'd kiss a girl?"

"Why not?"

Galinda fanned herself. "Why, I can't say. I just hadn't imagined that."

"Ooh, what if it was Galinda?" Fiyero goaded, snickering. "Would you kiss her?"

"Sure, I think I could manage that," Elphaba said, catching on. "What do you think, Galinda? Do you want to try?"

"Well, I, uh…" she sputtered.

"Ha, look who's turning red now," Fiyero said, while Elphaba seemed to be trembling with the effort of containing her laughter.

"Why, you…you…!" Galinda started, standing up with her tiny fists bunched at her sides. She was so flustered. He had never seen her like this, he realized with a wide grin; it was entertaining. She stomped her foot at them. "You're both lucky I have to go meet up with Phannee right now so I can't give you a piece of my mind!"

"Tell her we say hi," Elphaba called to her as she stormed away, stomping her tiny feet in the grass as she went.

Spellbound, the young prince savored this moment. He had never seen Elphaba so lighthearted. Hell, he so rarely got to see her easily smile – at best he usually got her crooked grin – but he was afraid to blink lest he miss this one, which was broad and relaxed and perfect. His heart swelled with love. How was it that the entire world wasn't as pathetically lovesick for her as he was? Not that he minded. Out of all the secrets he owned, the one about how dizzily amazing the green girl was wasn't one he minded keeping to himself.

When Galinda was out of earshot, Elphaba turned to Fiyero, mirth still in her eyes. "That was a bit mean, wasn't it?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps a bit. Fun, though."

"I'll just put it under retribution for that flowery hat she made me try on the other day," she said. "Does that make me wicked?"

"Wicked?" he repeated feebly, immediately sobering. "No. Not at all."

"That's good," she mused, oblivious.


	33. Chapter 32

Her hair was wild.

It had fallen loose, having been caught in branches and undergrowth they had been climbing through as they sought safe haven in the heart of the forest. She had her legendary hat clutched tightly in the pale green of her hand, treating it with a surprising amount of inattention as she pushed past rough bark and crisscrossing boughs in her way, using it and her broom as tools to aid in her movement.

A Finch had found them, warned them of soldiers combing the outer edges of the woods, and they had spent the next couple of hours rushing feverishly through the verdure. She knew this forest well; she knew at the core of it had trees and shrubs congested so tightly that the only way a corps of men could possibly comb it to find her would be to cut it all down, an undertaking that would buy her plenty of time to escape.

They were invisible here. They were safe.

She had been frustrated for a while; she hadn't spoken to him beyond terse navigation instructions and snapping at his every attempt to assist her, whether it was a hand at her back up a short escarpment slick with moss or when he reached to remove the thorny sprig caught in the loose threads from the torso of her patchwork dress.

He was losing his patience too. He tried to rationalize it. They were tired and they were scared. But a part of him was beginning to think that he had become exactly like that thorn stuck in her dress: He was now an encumbrance, slowing her down, distracting her; he was an inconvenience and a nuisance. They had given into their passion enough by now that it must have been gone for her and this trek through the woods had shaken from her the last of her nostalgia for him.

She pushed him through a thicket with an unyielding tangle of branches, which had scratched at his face and hands mercilessly, but the only mercy he wanted was from this apparent wrath. He stumbled into the smallest of clearings and whipped about, apathetic to her hard mien as she, too, pressed angrily into the glade.

When she looked up at him, he became staggered by how feral she really was. Her eyes seemed as black as the tangles that clung to her damp temples and her breaths were staggered through clenched teeth, so throaty they were like a growl within her.

He prepared himself to say the things he wanted to say, the things he _needed_ to say: that if she didn't actually love him then so be it, but that he would not be brushed aside lightly, that he wouldn't give up even if he was constantly faced with her cold shoulder or should he have to face this passive-aggression every day…

Heedlessly, she threw down her few possessions – her hat, her broom, her shoulder bag – and he made to speak before she did but her arms wheeled at him of their own accord, grabbing him about the shoulders and bounding onto him. She crashed against his lips with the same jarring intensity that her body did as she clenched her legs around him and he caught her, his hands digging into the flesh of her behind as he kissed her back just as hungrily, mouths claiming each other so in a way so rough that they throbbed and stung from the frenzy of teeth and lips.

He guided them until he felt resistance—a tree at her spine, not large but strong enough for him to pin her, to release her mouth from their battle and move to taste the sweet saltiness along the length of her long throat…

"You're a fool, Fiyero," she gasped, arching into him and moaning as she clutched him – her long fingers buried deep into his damp hair – to her neck. He could feel the vibrations of her slow, angry voice against his lips and her words burned at him, angered him, and urged him on. "You're so stupid!"

"You only just figured this out?" he retorted, insulted, his hands yanking mercilessly at the length of dress caught between them until he had purchase to her legs. Her skin was burning hot against his frozen fingertips and her flinch into him made him mad with want, with need, and she whimpered from loss as his hand left her to unlatch his suspenders.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, her hands cupping to his face with an unexpected gentleness. "If they catch us, if they find you, you'll be dead—_dead!_ All because you're a damn fool Fiyero!" She kissed him again, her fingers still soft on his cheeks but her kiss as desperate as her voice. "You shouldn't love me, you shouldn't—"

Irritation at her made him steal the words with his mouth. Of course he should love her; no one deserved it more! He pushed against her, crushing her against the rough bark, using pressure and touch and heat to speak for him, for words were useless against her madness. She cried into his mouth, her hands falling from him, and he traced her side and up her arm, impatient to feel her again, wrapping his large hand around where hers had seized a tree branch just above them. Her other pulled at his clothing.

"What if they find us?" she hissed, removing from his kiss but still pulling down at the material at his thigh franticly. Her eyes were wide, locked on his with alarming concentration, her fear real.

"They won't," he grunted, kissing her hotly. "You know they won't."

"They _could_," she said. And _that_ was the truth—maybe the Gale Force wouldn't find them in this thicket, buried deep within a forest so vast the entirety of the Wizard's army could waste days scouring it, but it wasn't impossible. If they weren't spotted now they could be sighted tomorrow or the next day or the next day and when that day came he couldn't point a rifle at the Wizard so they could make their escape. They would be bound and beaten and tortured or killed and this love affair, this romance of theirs, would be nothing but a lost memory.

And it was that distress that had them adjusting only what was necessary in order to take each other, to give into fear and love and each other and just feel. It was wanton, rushed, and deep; they panted into open mouths, kissing muffle cries that escaped, unchecked, from them both, and they lost themselves in each other, in the woods around them, in the rising moon.

Fiyero sat up, his Shiz dorm room shadowed around him in the early morning glow that streamed through his open window, and grunted as he took in himself: sticky with perspiration and aching with tension that had him coiled from the inside out, needing release.

It felt so real. It had been real, once. Enough time had passed for so many of the memories with Elphaba to start waning but at night, when he could not control his mind, they came with crystal-clear focus and with the pain and loneliness of withdrawal.

He yelled out, swiping at the objects at his bedside table, knocking his lamp and his clock away and cursing into the silence. He was so jaded by this room, by the smell of pine that drifted through his open window— clearly familiar enough to his subconscious that it gave him dreams of Elphaba but different enough from his sentient senses that he was constantly reminded that the forests were not the same. The one of which he dreamt existed on the other side of Oz and in a future he couldn't reach, and most importantly, it had a woman who had loved him fully that no longer existed for him.

Trembling, he lurched from his bed and at the door, racing down the stairs of his dormitory with hard steps against the stone in an attempt to free himself from feeling caged by that room. It wasn't until he was halfway across the lawn outside that he realized he was barefoot – the early morning dew stung with coldness at his feet – and he was dressed immodestly in just drawstring pants and an undershirt.

He shouldn't be out here like this. It was inappropriate, it was immature, and it was unnecessary. Despite these thoughts, he remained still, his head hung and his eyes crammed shut as he calmed his heart rate and as the cold lulled his arousal away until another day.

Details of the dream had already begun to fade away as they usually did but his stomachache remained, for he couldn't forget this one entirely. It had actually happened once. The memories clung to him, like the knotted hair that caught at his fingers, how the taste of her lips seemed different in their fervency – less crisp and refreshing like the flesh of a tart apple but richer and more heated like cider that would burn, tangy, on his tongue – and the eye contact, blackened with lust and trepidation, that they kept until their bodies wouldn't let them anymore.

"Fiyero?"

He became even more rigid at the voice than he already had been, for it was the only thing that he didn't want to hear right now, the one thing he couldn't deal with. How could it be that Elphaba would find him at this exact moment of misery? What kind of sick higher power was watching him, screwing with him like this?

No, he didn't believe in that mumbo-jumbo. Yet she was there.

Fiyero hadn't even noticed her outside. He hadn't really looked. He sighed heavily. She seemed to always be nearby, yet ceaselessly unattainable. It pissed him off.

"What do you want?"

"Just making sure you're okay," Elphaba's voice said behind him. He didn't think he could handle looking at her, so he didn't turn around. She seemed to sense she shouldn't approach any further as well. "Where are your shoes? Are you sleepwalking?"

"I'm fine," he said, trying to will away the butterflies her worry brought him. "What are you doing here?"

Why did she have to be around on mornings like this, when the nightmares broke him? Why must it be when he felt so susceptible? There were enough mornings he was collected, when a hot cup of sweet coffee and some Gillikinese apricot shortbread cookies were enough to relax him, to bring a smile to his face, to wipe his emotional slate clean for the day. She wasn't around for any of _those._

"I saw you run past, so I thought I'd—"

"No, what are you doing outside?" It wasn't asked kindly. He didn't know why.

"You're not the only one who is allowed out, you know," she said, catching his attitude. "I took a walk. Galinda whistles in her sleep sometimes—it's maddening."

He was in too much turmoil to engage in a snappy repartee and so he waited, quiet, insecure.

"Not that I need to explain myself to you," she added touchily, as if to further assert her independence.

He breathed deeply and finally faced her, and as he expected the very sight of her made his sensitive stomach churn. Her hair was pulled back, neatly braided, with that old skullcap she sometimes wore to warm her head. Her eyes, behind the thin frames of her glasses, caught the light of the rising sun and gleamed with color in the new light. There was no patchwork dress clutching at her curves but instead some faded frock, loose and ugly, under an aged cardigan that seemed to be short at her wrists and her waist, like it was a hand-me-down (hand-me-up?) from her sister.

It was all wrong; everything about this girl seemed to be a reminder of all that he lost. He never usually separated the two versions of her he knew so significantly, for they were truly one in the same, but never before did he feel such a sense of loss as he stared at her.

She wasn't the woman with whom he ran away, who kissed him fiercely and held him close in the night. That woman didn't exist and the hurt he felt at that was indescribable. He grieved for that woman.

He had never even held this girl's hand.

But Oz damn, they were identical in every way that mattered. The severity of her expression – distant and cold in her impatience – hammered into him, igniting his blood with the same ire as he thought about the woman who stared him down in that thicket. He roiled with frustration and felt the heat collect deep within him, in a familiar place, and he realized that just as he was then he was waiting for one of them to snap.

He had that same craving to seize her, to push that frock up and take her against the nearest lamp post, to release his anxieties into her as he had done once before.

And Fiyero was horrified with himself. For just a flash, she had been an object to him to be used. But no, it was more than that. He had lost himself to this fantasy in which he wanted to be used just as equally, to be wanted and to be loved _just_ as much.

He could see that potential in her in this very moment and it was making him crazy.

He could see the way Elphaba's fingers flexed in the air, as if itching to reach out and touch something. He saw the weighty loneliness on her shoulders that screamed to be lifted. He recognized the deep-rooted longing in her eyes – to be more, to have more, to want more – and that intense passion that seemed to always burn in there as well, as unruly as a brush fire, one waiting to be gratified and the other waiting to be matched.

He could see the way she kept peeking down at his chest, where diamonds glinted in the light just over the hem of his shirt without proper outerwear to conceal them, only to snap back to focus moments later. Her jaw set and her brow drew as she quelled whatever interest she had.

Yet Elphaba was oblivious to all of this. She was too hotheaded, too suspicious, and too prickly to consider him.

And still, nothing was really changed. Fiyero still longed for this girl in front of him. He knew who she could be and he could see it all, simmering underneath the surface. It eased his agitation.

He smiled softly and fleetingly, grateful to the young woman she was and also to the woman she would become, and walked away wordlessly, seeking the solitude of his dorm before the rest of Shiz woke and took notice of him in his nightclothes outside their residence hall.

And he glanced behind him, curious if she was still staring, but she had walked away too.

He committed himself to another couple of hours' sleep after that, praying it would be enough to normalize him in front of Elphaba later. It worked; he arrived to Life Sciences leaping over the front-row seat to occupy his own, greeting her.

She didn't say anything except hello and set herself to listen to Dillamond, but that actually quite customary. He shrugged it off. She seemed to have no interest in discussing their odd little encounter. Good. He popped his boots up on the chair in front of him as class began and she sent him an exaggerated huff and peeved glare over her shoulder.

All was well.

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**Happy secular and nonsecular Easter to everyone.**


	34. Chapter 33

**Thanks for all the lovely, lovely reviews. Here's a long chapter for you. Let me know if you like it.**

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Fiyero was standing outside the girls' dorm room. A couple of years back, the wood grain of the door was a familiar sight to him, but he had never really been nervous in front of it as he had now. Back then, he was merely dating Galinda— sweet, easy-going Galinda. He had never invited himself in, though after the emotional upheaval of Elphaba's disappearance Glinda asked him in a couple of times so he could hold her as she cried. Before that, however, her roommate's silence and unreadable glare had intimidated him, then later she was gone and he had no desire to immerse himself in the void created by her absence in the place she had lived. It had felt wrong.

Now was different. He had arrived earlier than Galinda had instructed knowing she wouldn't be home quite yet, and if Elphaba was inside she would be obligated to let him in and they would be alone with walls surrounding them, a rare and surreal treat for him.

He went ahead and knocked, smiling gently to a passing fresher girl as he waited, and his expression faded at the silence that greeted him. What if he was wrong, and she wasn't home? He supposed he would take a walk around for a few minutes until—

The door opened abruptly, revealing his favorite color of green.

"What are you doing here?"

He grinned broadly – maybe too much so, he wasn't sure – and told her, "Galinda asked me to stop by so she could give me something."

"She's not here," she said shortly.

"She told me she would be. I imagine she'll arrive at any minute."

She wasn't budging from the small space between the door and its frame. He glanced down the hall and started to see the other inhabitants of the dorm gaping at him, one of them frozen halfway between the lavatory and their rooms, forgetful of her lack of usual makeup and the towel wrapped around her hair. Having a young, single prince linger down a corridor from them was probably the most excitement many of them received, he thought vaguely and probably a bit pompously, but it certainly wasn't his idea of a good time. He turned back to Elphaba, determined to ignore them.

"Will you please let me in?" he asked impatiently, but rather than allowing her a moment to consider it he pushed past her into her living space as she had once done to him. A sharp but silent intake of breath filled him as he felt his skin react to touching her bare shoulder and from feeling his chest rub against hers, but the contact was unfortunately brief as they spun away from each other. He didn't look back at her to see her reaction to the audacity of his entrance though, not because he didn't want to but because he felt as though he lost control of his façade momentarily; their faces had been but a couple inches apart and her warm scent had filled his nostrils, making him feel lightheaded.

If Elphaba could know what thoughts he had of her right then when he caught a glance of her bed she would probably hit him, and, because he was so obviously stupidly, inarguably, uncontrollably male, he knew he would enjoy it.

He readjusted his features before turning around and smiling charmingly at her. She was standing in a dress he hadn't noticed on her earlier that day in History class, probably because it was the dark Shiz blue to which she was partial. It had a conservative neck but no sleeves and if she hadn't had her hand propped on her hip he wouldn't have known where it was at all because of how loosely it fit her. He didn't like it very much, but when he looked up at her face he suddenly felt himself melt a little at her beauty.

Galinda could say what she wanted about Elphaba's style; he didn't care at all what Elphaba was wearing as long as he could go back to his dorm room and dream of taking it off of her.

"You shouldn't be in here," she told him, but she didn't sound as mad as he was expecting.

"According to Galinda I should," he said, his tone calm so as not to be seen as argumentative. He took the opportunity to look around and in many ways the room was as he expected: it was clean, not a thing seemingly out of place, but it was so off-balance that he felt himself physically tilt as he compared the two sides. Galinda's side was filled with the bright colors of her bedding and of the dozen shoes she had on the shelves at the head of her bed, of the painted wardrobe that was cracked open as though it wouldn't close properly from all of its contents, and of the matching vanity that had a collection of carefully arranged but widely assorted products covering its surface. Elphaba's side was pallid in comparison— her bedspread the dull default option the scholarship kids at Shiz were given, and her few possessions were tucked away save for a few books at the head of her bed and the texts on her desk.

He did not want to sit on Galinda's bed and needlessly excite her, and the idea of choosing to drop himself on Elphaba's mattress with her there seemed like suicide, so he dropped himself into her desk chair and spun about on it.

"Excuse me, I had been sitting there," Elphaba told him crankily.

Fiyero grinned and patted his lap suggestively. "You're welcome to resume your seat."

It was proof of their burgeoning relationship – whatever kind of relationship it was – that she merely raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head in response.

He turned the chair about and continued to absorb the details surrounding him. He imagined Elphaba pulling this chair to the east-facing window and reading her books by moonlight, oblivious to his watchful gaze from atop Briscoe Hall. He thought about how she slept and if it was different in the safety and calmness of her dorm than it was in the constant danger of the wild landscapes of Oz. He squinted his eyes to try to read the faded titles of the books she chose to keep at her head when she slept, and when he gave up, he turned and looked down at her desk, which was strangely littered with all sorts of folded scraps of paper.

"What are you doing?" he asked, picking up one object that was perhaps supposed to be some sort of paper bird.

"It's nothing," she said quickly, stepping to his side and snatching the misshapen bird from his hands hastily. Her other hand twitched over her desk, as though best considering how to hide the evidence of her project, but it was too late and she knew it. She sighed and squeezed her eyelids closed as she spoke, perhaps so she couldn't see the sheer amusement on the prince's face as he watched her. "It is North Gillikinese paper folding. Galinda was showing me yesterday and for the life of me I just don't get it."

She peeked down at him, her features crinkled from embarrassment. He loved seeing her hard, defensive veneer they had once discussed over grapes and philosophy falter and glimpsing the timid girl behind it. Elphaba was too proud to ever admit it, but he knew she envied Galinda and all of Galinda's pretty things. Folding paper was just a defensible way to emulate her. He felt a bit of sympathy and a desire to put her at ease.

"Your paper is too thick," he told her. Elphaba's face changed as though he had suddenly spoke in tongues, and it was his turn to roll his eyes. He grabbed another one of her strangely shaped attempts at some sort of animal from the desktop and held it up. "The paper," he repeated very slowly, as though speaking to a child, "is too thick. Try using some from your notepad instead. It'll crease better."

Her expression of bewilderment matched her tone. "How do you know?"

"My mother is a very cultured, very bored woman," Fiyero answered casually, tossing the paper over his shoulder as the door to the room opened and Galinda strolled in, her features bright as she noticed him.

"Fiyero! Dearest, I'm glad you made it!"

Fiyero stood politely as she entered and sent Elphaba an affectionate look before doing his best to focus on Galinda; after all, she was his excuse for being here. She looked gorgeous as always in her fluffy yellow dress, which somehow complimented her shiny golden hair and fair skin. He couldn't pull off canary yellow if he tried.

"I'm sorry if I'm late; Boq stopped me after class to _ask me about my notes_," she said, her emphasis relaying to both of them that she didn't believe his excuse any more than they should. She traded her bag for some random bottle on her vanity and flounced past Elphaba to him, who was already taking the opportunity to fade away from his eye line now that the socialite was home.

"Well, your notes are very cute," Fiyero said to Galinda, who perked up at the silly compliment. "With all the doodles and everything."

"Why thank you Fiyero! I see no reason why my dictations should be as dull as the material. Not that there's anything wrong with having plain, boring notes," Galinda amended hastily to Elphaba, who waved off the comment disinterestedly.

Galinda then held up the small bottle she held in her manicured hands between them—the reason he came over. She was so petite that her face was lined up behind the bottle, and he shifted his focus to her pretty, bright blue eyes as spoke. "Now Fiyero, here's the moisturizer I promised you. Put it on morning and evening under your eyes and it should help with that awful sagging you're getting."

"Wonderful," he said brightly, though his enthusiasm was not as genuine as he implied. He had long gotten over caring about how perfect he looked, but in class today Galinda had broken a silence she claimed had been longstanding to sweetly demand on helping him with the increasing side effects of his uneven sleep schedule.

"Here, allow me," Galinda said, placing a hand to his shoulder to coax him back down onto the chair. As she dabbed a little of the lotion to her dainty fingers and began carefully applying the cream to his skin, he remained still and watched her. She had the focus an artist would have to brush paint to a canvas. Even though Elphaba was so close (reading on her bed and pretending not to watch the simple, superficial interaction at her desk), he couldn't help but think about the swell inside of him as the room's lamps lit up Galinda's familiar blue eyes, or think about the lines on the blonde's face that would eventually deepen against her wishes in the stressful months after her roommate's disappearance. Fiyero missed Glinda, he knew. He truly loved and missed his friend, and while he continued to have his weekly friendly dates with her younger counterpart and spend time with her in and around class, it wasn't the same.

He stared down the short length of her perfect nose. His eyes traced the shape of her perfect face. He admired the way her perfect smile was trained to be omnipresent so at first glance she always seemed happy; personally, he had strived for that for so long and it was _hard_.

Still, if he looked close enough into those eyes of hers he knew so well, he could see the ghost of the woman into which she was slowly blossoming. She disguised it well, but he, having known her as well as he did, could see the deep-rooted sadness that would come to fruition in their years together; it was one that mirrored his own in the hardest of times.

Part of him figured this young, lighter version of Glinda was sad because she was single and lonely and the man she liked kept her at arm's length. He wondered if it was egotistical to take credit.

"There you go," Galinda said, dabbing her finger for one last finishing touch to his skin before resuming her straight posture. He watched as her smooth hands closed the lid of the bottle and handed it to him, her fingers lingering against his for a moment longer than necessary while her dazzling eyes bore into him.

She was perfect, or as close to perfect as she could get, but he held her hand and knew there was no spark between them.

"Thank you Galinda," he said, pulling her petite hand to his lips for a charming peck. "It is so good of you to help me like this."

"Can't have you scaring away all the girls chasing after you around here," Galinda said, her voice taking on an interesting quality as she attempted to act nonchalant. Given that they had always been a couple, he wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to Galinda being jealous because of him.

"It's okay if I do. I've got the only two girls I need right here," he grinned, sneaking a glance at Elphaba on the bed who predictably sent him an irked look that made his stomach jump with enjoyment.

He should have gotten up to leave right then. His excuse for being there was disappearing like the moisturizer on his skin. But he longed to be with Galinda and Elphaba. They were his best friend and his lover respectively; they were the contents of his heart.

When did he become so sappy?

He stood up. But rather than make for the door he suddenly asked, "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"Of course I will!" Galinda said quickly, her fingers gripping his forearm in her excitement. "Can we go dancing? We haven't done that since the Ozdust. It would be so much fun!"

"Absolutely. And you, Elphaba?" he asked hopefully. "Are you coming?" He could feel Galinda's hold tighten as he looked to the green girl, who was examining him as if to determine his sanity.

"Oh, she won't want to," Galinda answered for her, causing Elphaba to slide her unreadable gaze to the blonde at his side. "She's too busy studying."

"Is that so?"

Elphaba stared hard at Galinda for a moment and Fiyero once again found himself wishing he could know what was in her head. "Yes," she said finally. "I have a lot of studying to do."

"You were just folding paper," Fiyero reminded her. "Come on, Elphaba. I won't take no for an answer. You must join us."

Once more, Elphaba and Galinda did that psychic things girls could do, and he was afraid it wouldn't end in his favor. But then again girls were supposed to be confusing; Elphaba smirked and nodded. "Fine."

"Well, it seemed that is settled. You'll allow us time to change our outfits?"

Elphaba scoffed. "What's wrong with the one you have on?"

"This is not meant to be worn in the evening!" Galinda cried in response, her hands daintily gripping the bright, yellow layers of her skirt as if obviously proving her point. "Oh Fiyero, come back in an hour, and not a moment sooner!"

And so he did, knocking politely against the wooden surface for the second time that day. Once more Elphaba answered but immediately slid out the door and shutting it behind her, muffling Galinda's crazed cries.

"She's almost done pinning up her hair," she said calmly.

Truthfully he didn't care about Galinda as he looked at Elphaba. She was still wearing that shapeless frock from earlier, but rather than the braid that had constrained her hair, it was tied behind her head with a ribbon so her beautiful, defined waves flowed down her back. It glistened as though Galinda had forced upon her some expensive anti-frizz-conditioning-fancy-repairing-shine-cream-whatever serum, and so did her mouth, as though Elphaba hadn't been able to escape shimmering gloss either. The sight of her made him slip his tongue over his own lips – the desire to close the distance between them and kiss her was swift and overwhelming – and had to shake himself to gain some clarity in his mind.

And she was wearing his coal-colored woolen coat over her blue shift. He tried not to feel special; he told himself it was supposed to be a cold evening and it was probably the warmest item she had, a theory supported by a light-gray knit scarf that stuck out sloppily from one of the jacket pockets.

"That's a nice look for you."

Her wide eyes followed his gaze down to the coat. "Oh. I could give it back to you, I didn't mean—"

"Elphaba," he cut her off, knowing how she could be when worked up. "It's a nice look on you."

She probably didn't believe him. It was too large on her and had a masculine cut. He knew she wasn't the type to care about such details, but he had to assume that Galinda must have been too distracted getting ready herself to notice Elphaba choose it. But Fiyero noticed details, including the book peeking out of the other pocket.

"Prepared to be bored?"

"Just prepared. Anyway, when you and Galinda go off to dance I'll have something to do."

"What makes you think I won't drag you out to dance too?" he said with a charming grin and an overdone wink, hoping to make her smile.

She didn't. In fact, she didn't seem anywhere near smiling, and it occurred to him then that she hadn't since she walked out the door to meet him. "Fiyero, about tonight—"

His stomach tightened, knowing he wasn't going to like what she was working up the nerve to say. "Don't tell me you're backing out," he said, feeling a wave of disappointment. It was just food and a tiny bit of music and dancing. Harmless. "Is it because of the dancing?" She didn't answer, which made him feel sicker. "Do…do you not want to go?"

"It's not that," she sputtered, and the knot in his gut lessened. She didn't _not_ want to go, which was a step closer to her wanting to go.

Except they were still having this talk. "Then what is it?"

"It's just… I don't know how to say this." She exhaled gruffly, her hands flexing and twitching in front of her nervously. He wanted to grab them to hold them still. "I would understand if you didn't want me to come. To dinner."

Fiyero felt like he missed something. "Huh?"

"It's one thing to share lunch by the canal and another to take me out in public," she explained, her dark eyes moving between his earnestly. "I'm difficult, I'm overbearing, I'm _green… _So I can't help but be…"

"Be what?"

"Concerned," she admitted, her gestures growing as much as the lines on her brow. "For you. For your… popularity."

He smiled gratefully to her, reaching out to still her hands without actually touching her, at least while she was stressed and insecure. "That's not necessary." She didn't seem convinced; her cheeks were still flushed brown in her embarrassment. So he added on portentously, "You can't forget that as a prince, I'm bred to be cool. Having a bookworm on my arm isn't going to change that."

She smiled back then, finally, comforted by his humor, and he wanted to continue until he could make her laugh but that's when the dorm room door opened again. Galinda appeared, a vision in a dotted, silky skirt and lace bodice of nocturnal purples and midnight blues, with her hair pinned up around a violet floral hair clip so beautifully he could understand the extra few minutes of desired preparation.

To Galinda, it must have been a brand-new dress, for she spun for them with a giggle, showing off. Fiyero and Elphaba smiled – it was hard not to when Galinda oozed delightfulness as she did – but the attire wasn't new for him, and the déjà vu had him reaching out his hand for hers without even thinking of it.

"You look lovely," he told her.

She gave a little wiggle of faux bashfulness as she giggled, sweeping her sparkling eyes over Fiyero's cranberry dinner jacket, "I know. You don't look too bad yourself."

"Yes, we all look nice," Elphaba's sarcasm cut in. "Shall we go?"

Fiyero grinned and held out his other elbow for her to take. She hesitated and sighed, resigning herself to his other arm, and together they made their way through the dorm and out of campus just as the sun was setting over the buildings.

He couldn't lie. With these two amazing women on either side of him, who were both worthy of turning heads in their own ways, he definitely felt like a stud.


	35. Chapter 34

**Hello hello! This chapter is a nice big one for you. Fun fact, it used to be twice as long before I figured out a way to split it up in to two parts. If you're sweet and wonderful and review this, I'll post part 2 very soon! :)**

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The place Fiyero picked for dinner was no Ozdust. It wasn't anything like Glinda's preferred restaurants in the Emerald City. It didn't have embroidered napkins, plates rimmed in gold leaf, or grand crystal chandeliers. But hey, the food was good and there was dancing, so in Fiyero's book that was enough to compensate for nut shells that littered the hardwood floors surrounding the bar and the bronze bobèches that brimmed over with an untold number of melted candlesticks on every table.

Still, Fiyero knew exactly what to do in order to pamper Galinda. He could act as a gentleman should when they entered and were seated, reuse a number of winning toasts to charm her, and remember all of her counterpart's favorite dishes from this restaurant's menu for recommendation before she even opened up the booklet. How to impress Elphaba, on the other hand, was a complete mystery to him. She sat herself before he had the chance to pull out her chair and questioned the source of the meats before he could even think to suggest a vegetarian item for her to try. She would come to relax once people got bored of looking over their shoulders at her and once she had a glass of wine in her system. Fiyero had them bring a bottle from Bright Lettins, which was famous for its age-old vineyard that sat conveniently at the bank of the Munchkin River, which Fiyero didn't prefer but Elphaba appreciated and Galinda savored.

Dinner conversation was pleasant enough. Good old Galinda, masterful raconteur that she was, kept them entertained and fed the flow of discussion while still engaging Fiyero and Elphaba as every well-mannered socialite should. But it was clear she had been waiting until the meal was over, for as soon as the waiter cleared their plates she was insisting to Fiyero that they dance.

He took her hand and they set off through the tables together toward the dance floor. He hadn't danced since the Ozdust – he hadn't the strong desire to, not after all of the artificial shows the two had put on week after week in the Emerald Palace – and as they spun about doing first a Gillikinese waltz, which was a medium-paced waltz perfect for starting out the evening, he realized he missed this. He missed dancing simply because he wanted to, because it was something enjoyable to do. And he missed the way she'd laugh and smile they spun together flawlessly to the rhythm, transitioning easily to an exuberant foxtrot.

As soon as an unhurried song began, Galinda had stepped in closer to him, and he sucked in an apprehensive breath as he accepted this change and adjusted his posture accordingly. It was innocent, he figured— he was being careful not to lead the girl on, and he could indulge her in a couple minutes of platonic intimacy after so many weeks of keeping her at length. She didn't waste the opportunity. Before long she shifted so she could rest her head against his shoulder as they moved languidly and he felt himself soften at little.

He could see Elphaba better with Galinda tucked against him. He had been sneaking peeks at her as he and Galinda spun about and she had been watching them. She was unreadable from the distance, without a distinct smile or frown on her face, and he wondered what she was thinking. But when the band had switched to the slow number she had finally disappeared behind her book. Why? Did she grow bored, or did she find seeing himself and Galinda so close disagreeable? He could barely stomach the idea of another man dancing with Elphaba, but his situation was vastly different from hers. He wasn't even sure if she cared at all what he did or who he was with, even if it was her best friend. Would he ever know how she felt…_if_ she felt?

He felt his dance partner move from his shoulder and he finally returned his attention back to her. Galinda had looked up at him, her eyes shining through her thick lashes (Was there glitter on them?), and she seemed to be lifting toward him slightly with her gaze fixated on his mouth. He decided to take the moment into his own hands as the song winded down, swooping down to kiss her cheek sweetly as the song changed.

It was a brisk 4/4-time, perfect for a swing, and he readjusted his hands. "Let's jitterbug," he said with a grin, and satisfactorily wiped her disappointed expression from her face by leading her along with the animated ditty. He couldn't remember ever dancing this particular jive with her – it originated in Munchkinland, where a nasty insect known as the jitterbug lived that would cause violent muscle spasms to people it bit in the same sort of bouncy manner as this jive – but she knew the steps anyway. It seemed fitting given the way her cheeks glowed from the glasses of Munchkin wine she had so enjoyed, and soon any semblance of that missed kiss seemed forgotten as their quick steps moved them across the dance floor.

They ended the song to scattered applause, and Fiyero spun his head about in surprise, not realizing that their efforts had garnered the attention it had. The other couples had even stepped off the dance floor to watch them and were clapping for them appreciatively, along with some folks seated nearby. Galinda became simply radiant at the attention, curtsying cutely before she spun herself into Fiyero's arms for a tight hug. He chuckled, squeezing her fondly.

"That was fun," she said cheerily. "I didn't expect that! I think I have just about one more in me like that if you're up for it! Do you know the Ugabu Jigaloo? Hardly anyone ever does but there's no better way to enliven a party than with the Jigaloo! I'll tell the band to play something in triple-time, then after I'll make you order us that delectable-looking chocolate cake—"

Fiyero wasn't listening. He had habitually glanced at Elphaba only to find she was no longer alone. Standing far too close for his liking was a man that he had never seen before and a chill ran down his spine.

"Galinda," he interrupted, pointing to their friend.

"Who is he?" she asked, obviously concerned. "Anyone else and I'd chalk it up to being sociable." They shared a worried look, for they _knew_ Elphaba hadn't the patience for that. Fiyero took her by the hand and dragged her away from the lights of the dance floor and through the throngs of tables, weaving through until he could finally see Elphaba's face behind the large figure. Her features were hard, incensed, severe; even as often as he pissed her off he had never seen her look quite like that. Something was wrong.

He dropped Galinda's hand and gestured for her to wait a few feet back. She looked terrified and nodded vigorously in understanding.

"—just go away," he heard her saying, just as he became overwhelmed with the stench of body odor and strong, cheap liquor as soon as he cleared the last table. The man's clothing was drab and sweat-stained, like they were worn but not washed frequently, and his boots were covered in chunks of what appeared to be dried cement; in conjunction with his broad, sturdy back and the roughened hands he saw at his sides, Fiyero gathered that he was a construction worker, perhaps from the building project just two blocks away.

"Is everything okay over here?" he asked, stepping into their midst.

"This man was just leaving," Elphaba said sternly, acting as if untroubled.

"Nah, darlin', we're just getting acquainted," his said. His face reminded Fiyero of an old potato—brown, round, slightly misshapen and with little hairy moles protruding from his cheeks and chin, which was shaggy and unkempt like his graying hair. His smile was slanted, drunken, revealing yellow teeth, and if that wasn't enough, he closed one of his bloodshot eyes at Elphaba in an attempt at a wink. "She's a funny little sprite, isn't she? What is she, anyway? She won't tell us."

"She's a woman, actually. Look, how about you head back to your table and I'll have the barkeep send over a pitcher of beer to you. On me."

"Neh. I don't take money from rich little boys. But what the hell, free beer is free beer. Barkeep! A round on the pretty boy!" the man called, turning around and holding up his sloshing tankard and guffawing at a bunch of guys nearby at the bar. It was only then that Fiyero realized that Potato Face had friends, perhaps three more turned in their barstools, watching the show with jollity. He swayed on his feet as he tried to brush Fiyero away like he was an annoying bug. "So what are you, sweetie, hmm? You look like a cucumber. I love cucumbers."

"Maybe she's like a scallion," a man at the bar behind him slurred, pointing a hand rudely that looked like it could rip through metal plating if he so wished.

"A scallion, eh?" the man laughed gruffly. "Green on top and a differen' color on bottom? Come on, sweetie, give us a peek." Roughened fingers reached for the hem of her skirt but she swatted them away with the edge of her tiny paperback and she leapt out of her seat, nearly knocking the tall chair over as she did so.

"Don't touch me!"

"She's feisty, I like that," the ugly man said, smirking at Fiyero, who was working to contain his rage. "Is she your girl?"

"I'm nobody's property," Elphaba growled, swatting him away again.

"Please keep your hands to yourself," Fiyero said with more calmness than he contained. "Respect her wishes. She doesn't like it."

"She might if she gave it a chance," he said, his lips curling to reveal a sick grin he looked her over with greedy eyes.

Fiyero stepped forward, not sure which of the two parties he was protecting at the moment: Elphaba, or the man she looked ready to incinerate with the force of her stare. He suddenly was concerned that she could, in fact, ignite him with her mind; he had no concept of how advanced her sorcery was now or even how powerful it would be in the future.

"You're disgusting," Elphaba spat angrily, her hand gripping Fiyero's upper arm painfully tight. He could feel her nails even through his jacket. At least she stayed behind him.

"This isn't worth it, Elphaba," Fiyero said, putting a hand over the one clutched at his arm comfortingly and turning his head over his shoulder, daring to look away from the threat if it meant taming the fire in Elphaba. The sudden closeness of their faces seemed to be enough to shock away most of the ire, given her wide eyes and the wine-scented exhale that burst forth from her frowning lips.

It was a reckless moment to be so affected by her. But for just instant she was open to him, fleetingly vulnerable between the abuses she was undeservedly accustomed to, and his attention lingered too long.

"Well, lookie here, Pretty Boy seems to have a taste for vegetables." Potato Face leaned in closely, sending a noxious cloud of breath into Fiyero's flaring nostrils just as the prince turned back. "I bet she makes you wanna eat your greens. I bet you'd _love_ to eat those greens."

He wouldn't let himself react. He was a royal, a former Captain of the Gale Force, and more importantly, he was simply better than these inebriated inbreeds. He wouldn't let himself react. He wouldn't react.

"Come on, Pretty Boy, tell us- you ever get down and plow that field?" he rumbled raucously, grin broadening. "Look at his face, he has! What's she like in the sack, eh?" He lurched forward again, his whisper harsh and gruff, like something grinding on rock. "What does she taste like, huh? Something spicy?"

The air seemed to coagulate around them as his ire intensified until he could see nothing but the filth in front of him; his muscles impulsively tautened and he burned with the desire to tear flesh from bone. It was only Elphaba's tight grip on his arm, holding him in place, and her murmured, "Don't," that kept him from smashing the nearest beer bottle across this man's ugly, tuber-y mug.

He took a composing lungful of air against his instincts. "You've had enough to drink," he told the man. "I'll get you a carriage home."

By now all of the tables in the area had stopped their jawing to gawk at the commotion. The muted buzzing only increased the tension both in the air and in the men. Potato Face scoffed. "We'll leave when we damn-well please and not just because some pretty Winkie told us to. Why don't you take that pretty face of yours somewhere else before I smash it in." His large, dirty hand swatted at Fiyero's head stupidly as he pushed the prince away, knocking his dark blond hair into his face.

Fiyero tried to concentrate on breathing as he pushed his bangs out of his face with a clammy hand. Breathe in, breathe out… Through clenched teeth, Fiyero growled, "Don't do that again."

"What are you going to do about it, Pretty Boy?" the man said with a harsh chuckle, swinging to cuff Fiyero once more. Instinctively, Fiyero caught him by the thumb and, committing to the reflex, used it to twist the man's entire arm around until the joint was locked tightly behind his back and he was grunting in pain.

It was only because he heard Elphaba deep gasp behind him and pull at his shirt that he resisted dislocating anything; he wanted to hurt this man, he wanted to kill him, but that was a suppressible primal, masculine urge. He was the imminent ruler of a vast, strong nation; he was a commander of the Emerald City's military force; and most importantly, he was someone who wanted to be deserving of the morally steadfast Elphaba Thropp. So, with some reluctance, he released man's hand with emphasis, glowering as the man lurched away.

"Come on," Elphaba gently urged. "We should take Galinda home now."

The reminder of Galinda was sobering, as Elphaba assumedly intended. Nodding, he peeled his glare away with difficulty and made to leave, preoccupied with thoughts of both girls.

He didn't remember the fist hitting his head.

He _did_ remember tumbling into an empty table and knocking it and two chairs down. He remembered the bursts of light that filled his vision. He _definitely_ remembered the pain that enveloped his whole cheekbone and temple. So it wasn't hard to figure out what happened.

"Stop, stop!"

But of course the man didn't heed Elphaba. Just as Fiyero turned back he was suddenly struck by the man's fist in his gut. It was a powerful blow, like being hit with a cannonball, annihilating the very breath from his body while he doubled over in pain.

"Fiyero!" Elphaba gasped, running forward and putting herself between the prince and the brute. Fiyero coughed, wanting to straighten up to protect her but unable to do so as he retched, choking down the contents of his stomach before they joined the peanut shells on the floor. "Leave him alone!"

"You could have stopped this, little froggie," he said in a tone meant to be enticing. "You still can. I just want to peek, to find out what you are."

"I'm a person," Elphaba spat, "and I had the misfortune of being born green just as you clearly dropped from your mother foul and ugly. We all have our crosses to bear."

Sucking back the nausea with wheezy puffs, Fiyero glimpsed up in fear to see the man startled by Elphaba's thorny remark. But then the man laughed raucously, the sound throaty and rough and awful but at least a laugh. He turned to his friends watching from the bar, who also hooted and snorted at his lead, which became all the louder as the man slapped his thigh.

Still, Fiyero was tense.

And all at once the leer twisted into a sneer and the man made to grab at Elphaba – perhaps her hair – calling out at her, "You bitch—"

Adrenaline and ire ripped through him in that moment and Fiyero uncurled himself and burst forward, sending a trembling front kick directly into the man's core with enough force to send him flying back before his fingertips ever touched her.

The powerful kick threw Potato Face flailing back into the clutches of his associates. Stunned to silence but not to inertness, two caught their friend while the third hurtled the heavy tankard of beer at Fiyero's head. Fiyero ducked and lifted a wooden, beer-soaked chair in front of him just in time to shove the giant man away with it, who had run at him with enough force to tear him from his feet had he not been ready. Another man swung out at him just as he recovered and he raised the chair in front of him – he could hear the sickening crack of the wood as the force splintered it – and he threw it forward to catch the man full in the face. A different snapping sound and the burst of blood on his boots told him he broke the man's nose. In his periphery he saw the other man lunge forward at him again and ducked a wild swing from the side, catching the man's momentum and flipping him over his shoulder to the hard ground below with military instincts his partying-playboy self never had.

Potato Face ran forward then, and like a dance he used to know, Fiyero's body moved independently from his immediate thoughts. He interrupted the wide punch as it flew at him by striking at the man's jaw, twisted the outstretched arm around until he could jab the susceptible and vulnerable nerve in the armpit and clip the man's rough chin with the heel of his palm. The beast crumpled.

A holler from his right was his only warning against the fourth man's attack and Fiyero dropped his elbow just in time to guard his torso. The blow he suffered to his radial nerve vibrated in his bones and his nerves went alight with painful sensation that rendered his hand somehow simultaneously limp and tense as well as the rest of him momentarily paralyzed. He could do nothing to stop the man from grabbing his jaw and tossing him back into their table, which fell with the sharp shattering noise of breaking glass and Galinda's scream.

He didn't lose his footing though, regardless of the table leg's best efforts to trip him. He straightened up just in time to deflect another punch sent his way, then another. The man's fists ricocheted off of his forearms and wrists with juddering force but adrenaline kept bringing his throbbing hands back up in front of him. Fiyero finally saw the opportunity to effectively deflect the man's wrist and strike at the man's throat with the opposite hand, leaving him crazed and coughing and disoriented. He brought up a knee with precision to the outside of the man's leg and he too fell, but the onslaught of brown and din and odor overwhelmed him as suddenly he was rushed by two of the men at once.

Large hands seized him with strength like vices, twisting his bruised arms so forcefully he cried out in pain. He buckled, but the men kept him upright; he couldn't slip them. He couldn't fight. He tried. He couldn't.

Potato Face, who Fiyero had dazed but not incapacitated, stood in front of him. He was grimacing, Fiyero saw with satisfaction, and clutching at his side just under his arm joint, but he was burly and he was mad and Fiyero felt the blood drain from him as he met the man's eyes. There would be no mercy.

Elphaba's hysterical cries caught his attention and he looked at her. Galinda had her restrained, but just barely, with the thin white arms wrapped tight around her and the thin green girl struggling vigorously against her.

"Don't! Please!" she cried, her wild eyes whipping around to the circle of onlookers. "What is wrong with all of you? How can you all just stand by and do nothing?"

He met her gaze then, grateful to know she was safe, just as knuckles smashed into his face with uninhibited power and his head snapped back hard from the force. Delirium called to him and he sagged, wilted, in the arms of the thugs on either side, and he considered caving to it. But then a boot struck him hard above his knee, then again horribly close to his groin, then a fist hammered again and again to his tightly clenched abdomen and into his ribcage, and Fiyero was gone—back to the cornfield, where matching boots and rifles of soldiers rained down upon him, shattering his bones and kicking dirt into his punctured lungs…

But then the air changed. He felt the charge in his skin, making his hair stand on end. He felt the chill just under it, like icy water cascading under the surface. He remembered the high-pitched ringing sound temporarily drowning out everything else. And it brought him back to the present, because he it was something he had only felt once before in a classroom long ago.

Elphaba was about to lose her cool.

He was trembling: from pain, from the horribly familiar flavor of blood, from the resonances of battery from the Gale Force that lingered in his psyche as traumas sometimes do, but he shook his head as if to clear away the fog. He was not in the cornfield. These were not trained soldiers sent to kill his love. This was only a dumb bar fight. And that wasn't worth the potential consequences of Elphaba having a magical conniption in public—especially one that he was wholly responsible for and should never, would never have happened had it not been for him.

"Stop," he coughed, before mustering up the strength to repeat: "STOP!"

It seemed his sudden authority shocked his attackers enough to pause the assault. He wrenched his eyes open and glared at the lout whose hand was fixed in midair as if to strike him again, defying him, before turning to look at Elphaba. It seemed he had staggered her as well, for she was frozen in place, watching him with bated breath.

The air stopped vibrating. Good. He winked at her and cocked a quick grin to Galinda, who was entirely pink in the face with silvery streams of water down each powdered cheek.

"Had enough, Pretty Boy? Worried for your delicate skin?"

Yes, he had had enough, but Fiyero was a brainless fool at his very core and let it show at far too many inopportune times for his wellbeing: "Actually…you hit like a girl," he laughed breathlessly, hyperaware of the stinging of his lip as it stretched with his cheekiness. Brainless indeed- his excuse was that it felt like the contents of his skull had been reduced to goo that made everything become all muzzy and woozy. That seemed valid. "I just wanted to tell you that I have no intention of paying for that beer any longer."

Potato Face, too witless to have a rejoinder, just snarled and moved as if to backhand him.

"_Will you stop this nonsense_?"

It was Galinda. Apparently, she had tired of standing by, relegated to restrain Elphaba, for she seemed to release the green girl with enough impatience that Elphaba stumbled aside clumsily.

"Who is this? How did I not notice a sweet thing like you?"

"Isn't that the issue?" Galinda harrumphed, stomping over in front of Potato Face with a stern finger waving in his face. "Do you have any idea how special this night is for me? I wore my best makeup, my newest dress, and slaved to get my hair _just right_! It was all perfect! I was going to dance and be gay and have the most wonderful evening, yet I've watched while you've reduced my date to a pulp! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"The man needed a lesson in respect."

"Don't you presume that you have anything to teach about respect!" Galinda shrilled, stamping her foot impatiently. "You managed to assail and insult both Fiyero Tiggular, the heir apparent to the Arjiki throne, and Elphaba Thropp, the Thropp Second Descending of Munchkinland! Moreover, you've offended _me_! I am an Upland – of the _Upper Uplands, _thank you very much! – and as such I have more influence in this province than your tiny little mind could even fathom!"

"Heir apparent?"

"It means _prince, _you horrid man!" Galinda snapped.

That just made Potato Face laugh hysterically. "You're telling me that this Winkie is a pretty, prancing prince? Ha!"

"And a gentleman to boot," Galinda commented, her eyes twinkling affectionately for a second as she looked over at Fiyero. "So unlike many of his people. In fact, I shudder to think of the atrocities that would come to you brutes should the Arjiki clansmen find out how you've harmed their charming prince! The Vinkus can be a rather savage place, I understand. They're a proud people, you see. Not as forgiving as dear Fiyero here."

"That's not to mention the political ramifications that could ensue," Elphaba added, following her lead. "The Arjiki could blame Gillikin for what happened to their prince, demand retribution, and attack. The Emerald City would be forced to intervene, leaders of Gillikin and the Vinkus would be calling to Munchkinland to pick sides, and as the governor's daughter I would be forced to explain how I was witness as Gillikinese men assaulted me and my friend, the Vinkun heir apparent."

"As a Gillikinese citizen of high-standing, I must say that it is in the interest of our whole state if you will drop him now. I think the other patrons of this establishment would be inclined to agree."

It was only then did the men truly take note of the silence of the bar, of the dozens of eyes watching the exchange, and realized that with the girls' declarations that they were in a very hot spotlight. The circle around them tightened, the bartender that was once serving them beer was among them with a pistol and his impressive mustache bent into a frown.

"I think you boys best be leaving now," the bartender decided.

The men did as they were asked none too politely, for as they released Fiyero he fell forward onto the hardwood and crashed painfully against it. He could feel the heavy footfalls vibrate in the wood as the men stormed out, slamming the door behind them. The bartender muttered something crude and Fiyero could feel him walk away too, each step pounding and trembling in the ear pressed down, littered in amongst the drone of mutterings of the shuffling, dispersing crowd. Sharp edges of the peanut shells stuck onto the side of his face and to the stinging, bloody mess that was his lip and chin. Noises cut at his ears, jarring, shocking. His body throbbed from the inside out.

As far as Fiyero was concerned at that moment, he was quite comfortable. He considered falling asleep. He didn't realize he had.

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**Reviews = Part 2**


	36. Chapter 35

**Part deux, as promised.**

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The cornstalks rustled about him, incessant murmuring that seemed in harmony with the cicadas that hummed so loudly in the night that Fiyero could feel it in the fractures of his bones. He spread his fingers against the damp ground, trying to find purchase on the spongy, gritty soil or the slippery decomposing husks that littered the ground.

_Fiyero…_

The sound of his name from his lover's lips was suddenly just above him and strong, lissome hands rolled him over onto his back. He couldn't will his eyes open quite yet, for the swelling, pounding, aching feeling in his head was all too much, and he was suddenly aware of the pain near his spine, reminding him of the hole placed there by the Gale Force soldiers when they nailed him to that scarecrow post. It flared up, fierier than the broken bones and broken skin and he remembered that he was left to die, to bait her in, and he wouldn't be the end of her.

Elphaba needed to run. They were waiting for her. To hurt her. She had to get away, to escape the soldiers before she could be captured.

"Dearest, you're gabbling," Glinda informed him, cleaning his face with a handkerchief the same way he'd known her to wipe away a spot of her lipstick from his cheek countless times before. "Elphie's perfectly fine."

Something within him told him, no, this isn't Glinda, it's _Galinda_, and the distinction was important… He opened his eyes. A lamp above him glared like the Munchkin moon in the dimness and he couldn't see through the haze it made.

He saw their faces then, one green and one fair, and though the brown environment faded and blurred around him between wooden bar and golden cornfield, the faces did not belong to witch either Wicked or Good. They were too young— worried, but not burdened.

It brought him back. He was suddenly more aware of the hardwood floor he was stretched across, of the peanut dust in the air, of the circle of strangers hovering around them. With the girls' help, he sat up, his ribs sore but not broken, and with clearing vision he looked around. He reached for the wound at his back, the pain of which was ebbing, only to find a piece of broken ceramic from the tankard handle had caught on his shirt. There was no blood, no cuts, just the pressure of the sharp point. He threw it away hatefully with a trembling hand.

"And really, calling those thugs soldiers," Galinda pattered on all the while. "They were as far from soldiers as they could be. Just think if they had been; oh, the complaint I could file!"

Galinda was fussing over him, batting the nut shells from his clothing and fixing his hair with her delicate fingers, muttering about his ridiculous need to be so noble and how getting knocked about like he did didn't lend to his appearance at all. Elphaba was kneeling next to her, hands hovering near him but not touching, never touching. Her distress was palpable; he felt pained in his chest that had nothing to do with his bruising ribs.

"'S'it too late to get you that chocolate cake?" Fiyero slurred to Galinda, desperate for levity.

"I'd fear the waiter wouldn't know where to bring it. I think our table was knocked somewhere over there," Galinda responded, gesturing away cutely for good measure. "But that's so thoughtful of you."

The next few minutes were a blur. The restaurant had resumed its cheerful drone after Fiyero had bought a round of drinks for the remaining customers whose evenings had been disrupted; even the bad-tempered bartender cracked a crooked smile and clapped Fiyero painfully on the shoulder on their way out when the prince handed him more money than was probably necessary to fix any damages.

As he staggered out of the bar with the girls in tow, all he could think was how terrible he felt. He felt recoiled, his consciousness set a couple inches behind his eyes and below his skin. His stomach felt like it was permanently flinching. He was already limping, thanks to the attention of Potato Face's boot, but with each step he took he felt like the dark street spun around him and that he left his equilibrium back somewhere on that bar floor next to his dignity.

"Fiyero, let us help you," Elphaba said from somewhere far away, but just then they were both at his sides, inviting his arms over their shoulders. Galinda was too short to make a difference, but Elphaba shouldered his weight on the bruised side of his body, the one the brute favored, and it was more than enough to compensate.

Dignity be damned, he thought, looking over at Elphaba just as she faced up at him. Their noses were but inches apart and he couldn't help but grin broadly at this small success. Emphasis on _small_ success, since his busted lip and swollen features fought against his moment of triumph. He didn't care.

"Look at me, such a ladies' man," Fiyero bragged boyishly into the night as they staggered together. He smiled down at Galinda next. "The two prettiest girls on my arms."

Elphaba, already stiff as a quoxwood tree as they trailed along the road frustratingly devoid of taxis, seemed to tense even further at that; her bony side grated painfully against his body with each step. "You're a fool, Fiyero," Elphaba snapped at him, readjusting him roughly, carelessly.

The cold air, her closeness, and her inexplicable anger brought her back to the forest grove those months ago, when she attacked him in desperation and lust in her fear of their likely capture. _You're a damn fool, you shouldn't love me, you shouldn't…_

"You say that a lot," he laughed miserably into the night, wanting to kiss her like he did then, forgetting for a moment Galinda's tiny collarbone was under his other hand, forgetting that she was there at all.

"When have I—" She stopped herself, taking an irritated breath. "You shouldn't have taken me out tonight. I'm a magnet for commotion."

"You mean you are one," Fiyero corrected affectionately without thought.

"Perhaps I am!" she bit back, visibly offended. "But I so much as said so earlier, and you did as you _always_ do and didn't take any of it seriously!"

"What are you going on about, Elphie?" Galinda asked, leaning forward to look at her best friend as they walked.

"I tried to warn him! He should have left me at home when he had the chance, then none of this would have happened!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Galinda said just as Fiyero let out an amused snort (which actually really hurt).

"She was concerned for my reputation," he explained. He couldn't hold back a grimace as she jostled against him spitefully at his disclosure.

"I can't imagine this is your first scuffle in such a place," Galinda commented. "I'd say this has all been par for the course as a reputation would go. No harm no foul."

"_No harm_? Do you even hear yourself Galinda? He's bleeding!"

"It's just an expression, Elphie, no need to be so touchy. Fiyero knows what I mean."

"I'm feeling very respected now, actually." Even as muddled as he was, he couldn't miss her green scowl and harrumph at his flippancy. "What? No one is gonna mess with me now 'cause of you two."

"Oh Fiyero, I hope you'll forgive me for calling your people savages," Galinda said hurriedly, embarrassed. "I didn't mean—"

"It was just another one of your wiles, I know," Fiyero said, so lost in thought of the years he spent overlooking her honey-dipped half-truths that he didn't even notice her whine of complaint of her implied habit of trickery. "Still— _war_ on my behalf. That's inventive. As if Father would give a damn."

"Of course he would, Fiyero, don't be silly. My popsie would do anything if it were me."

"Mine'd probably say, 'Serves you right.'" He scoffed to himself, coughing a little bit as he did. "Stupid. He wouldn't say that."

"What would he say?" Elphaba asked him, her voice becoming gentle and warm in a night that seemed anything but.

"Nothing." Fiyero watched his dragging boots against the tarmacadam, adrift. He imagined his father was there that night in the cornfield, staring indifferently up at him as he wheezed and trembled on that pole. "He'd say nothing."

Elphaba's hand flattened on his back with an unmistakable pressure. It was comforting.

Galinda cleared her throat gently, ill-at-ease with the silence. "Still, that was quite clever of us Elphie, you have to admit. Never in my life did I ever expect that I would cause such a big, bully of a man such a fright."

"We do make a great team," Elphaba agreed thoughtfully.

"Best there's ever been," Fiyero agreed heartily. He squeezed them both with fondness. "Shouldn't have even gotten involved. No fight you two can't win."

"Just be glad we did," Galinda scolded, slapping him lightly on the chest. "Taking on so many men by yourself—such hubris!"

"Where did you learn to fight like that, anyway?"

"In the Gale Force."

Elphaba frowned deeply at him. "The Gale Force?"

He copied her expression, befuddled, because it was the truth but it didn't make sense to her, and it didn't make sense to him why that was. But then the other truths came rushing back to him as the timelines unwound themselves from the knot in his mind and he spun within himself. Recognizing some sort of correction needed to be made, his mouth opened but instead of words some sort of empty filler noise spilled out—like his mental defense, his readiness for refutation, was whisked about his already buzzing brain and left its contents scrambled.

"You mean someone who was in the Gale Force taught you that stuff?" asked Galinda curiously, saving him.

"Right," he agreed, nodding aggressively. "Yeah."

Mercifully Elphaba said nothing – What misgivings could she have anyway that would matter when the truth was as outlandish as time travel? he thought bitterly – by the time Crage Hall was finally in sight.

"I know this evening wasn't without its hitches," Galinda said as they stopped in the main doorway to say their goodbyes. "But aside from that I had a lovely time with you, Fiyero." Elphaba stepped away to let them speak and without her nearness Fiyero was already feeling the hollow pangs of loss; and then it was just the stunning blonde left, solely filling his personal bubble.

Ha, personal bubble. He smiled deliriously at Galinda, amused with his own mental pun knowing that _her_ personal bubble was pink and could fly, and she beamed up at him in return. Her blue eyes sparkling even in the dimness of nightfall. Her favorite perfume wafted pleasantly in the air. Her small hands were on the back of his wrists, her thumbs caressing over the blonde hairs and the fingertips teasing his palms.

He felt wrong.

"I really had such fun dancing with you tonight. We're quite perfect together, really. Dance partners, that is."

He had fun too; it wasn't that he didn't. It wasn't that she wasn't sweet and funny and charming and perky and the like. It was that letting down his guard in front of Galinda meant going down a road he didn't want to travel again; after all, she always managed to get her way.

"Uh," he said, suppressing a grimace in front of her that was as much from pain as it was from outright discomfort and turning it into a strained smile. "Yeah. We are."

"You owe me an Ugabu Jigabu and a slice of chocolate cake," she said winsomely, and because he wasn't shell-shocked enough as it was, Galinda stretched onto her toes to kiss him at the unblemished corner of his mouth. She lingered a moment too long for the affectionate gesture to be only friendly and the neglected nerves flared up with a thirst Galinda wasn't meant to and could never slake. "Don't think I won't be collecting."

He gave a tense chuckle. "You got it."

"Good night then, dearest. Do feel better."

She twirled away, her blue and purple skirts spinning about her hypnotically as they were made to, and seemed to float up the steps to the main entrance to the female dormitory. She paused, realizing she was alone, and turned about calling pleasantly, "Aren't you coming, Elphie?"

"I'll be right there, my sweet. Go on."

"All right," Galinda said, but her expression faltered, dimmed by doubt and something else Fiyero couldn't comprehend as her sapphire eyes flickered over to Elphaba. "Don't be long. Pleasant dreams, Fiyero."

Galinda was then gone, and he and Elphaba were finally alone.

"Gonna help me home?" he asked hopefully. He lifted up his arm, inviting her against his side again and hoping he didn't appear too eager. Although she seemed to have misgivings now that Galinda wasn't also there, she caved and fitted herself against him once again so they could make their way across the lawn to Briscoe Hall.

Fiyero could admit that he was slumped against her more than was necessary – then again, in his defense, the little embarrassing breathy grunts he exhaled as he moved weren't exactly fake and it wasn't as if he wasn't still genuinely woozy – but she bore him without a complaint. She gripped him to her like a strong, snug side-hug, her thin arm fixed about his back to secure him as they fumbled together in the dark, her hand on his stomach to keep him from pitching forward.

He should have been focusing on making his slack feet move better, but it was impossible. He couldn't ignore the sensation of her hand above his navel. It was cold – he remembered now how she always seemed cold to him, at least in their first moments of touch – but somehow it seemed to blister him with heat as it slid against his shirt and his tattoos underneath and sent his nerves alight.

_The diamonds_. A rush of self-satisfied vanity filled him as her astute fingertips subtly explored his abdomen; had he not been so pathetically engrossed in her – in the glossy waves of her thick, gorgeous hair, in every brush of their bodies against one another, in the study of the profile of her face which glowed hard and smooth like marble under the moonlight – he might not even have noticed. But he did take notice, and how, of every tickle of movement against his sensitive skin.

And yet Elphaba gave nothing of her curiosity away. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if it was all just in his head, which recently had been at the receiving end of some very large knuckles.

It wasn't a far walk to the front of Briscoe Hall. They stepped apart; the air between them seemed to vibrate with something that hadn't been there just minutes ago, like the static in the air right before lightning cracks, and sent his heart racing.

It didn't take long for that tension to mutate. Now that the buffer of air was between them again, it seemed to solidify into that boundary with which they both were most familiar. He wouldn't cross it and she daren't.

Dejection sunk in his gut.

She was clearly trapped in her own head, if her unfocused, restless eyes were any indication. He had seen her blurt out her thoughts often enough to recognize when she struggled to contain them, and he had a feeling whatever she was thinking was something he probably didn't want to hear.

Of course she broke. "Fiyero, about what you did tonight…"

"Let me guess," he said, saving her the trouble of hurting him since his skull was thundering enough as it was, wanting to get this done before the last of his wits waned. "I shouldn't have gotten involved. And you don't need a man to fight your battles for you. And I'm dumb."

"Well, yes to all of that," she admitted slowly. "But that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Oh. What were you gonna say?"

"Thanks, I guess." She seemed to speak to his chest, pensive as she strained to find the words. "No one's ever…stood up for me before."

"I can't imagine anyone's ever felt like you needed them to."

"I _don't_ need them to. I don't." He believed her. "But…"

"What is it?"

"It's just…for the first time…I _feel_…like I'm not alone."

It was such a simple thing, so innocently stated.

It broke his heart.

It would have been so easy for him to make a consolatory, kneejerk remark, no matter how true it was. Her words weighed on him too much for such simplicity. His perspective was a loaded one because once upon a time, when they first found haven after their escape from the Palace, he stared into her eyes and was faced with unfathomable depths of her loneliness.

It wasn't just because she had been a dissident. It hadn't been because she had been hunted and in hiding for years. It wasn't that she only ever had one friend and she had left her behind. It wasn't because her own family could barely stand to look at her.

No, it was all of these things and more he couldn't name.

She had held his hand so tightly it had almost hurt; it was if she had feared that if she let go she'd never feel another one again. And maybe, if he hadn't been standing there, she wouldn't have.

It was so undeserved that he didn't couldn't bring himself to say anything then either; he had crashed himself onto her and kissed her for the first time and kissed her and kissed her…and she kissed him back.

As he faced this younger, less fraught version of the green girl, the desire to kiss her was practically unbearable. But it wasn't a _need_ like it had been then, like he had been giving her a kiss of life that could save her.

"I suppose I've just accepted that I'd always be on my own," she confessed. "But Galinda made it so people actually listened to me tonight, to recognize me as something other than a nuisance or an object. Even if it was just for a moment. She ascribed value to me, to my name, that I was never allowed before."

"She's secretly shrewd, that one."

She smiled at that, and that alone practically undid all of his sorrow.

"You…and Galinda… Think of what we could do— _together_."

His grin was delighted but dopey. "Yeah."

She seemed to roll her eyes at herself then, like she realized who she was talking to, and he wished he had said something more intelligent. "I should go. You'll manage the rest of the way?"

"Undubetibly. Indubededly."

"Indubitably?"

"That's the one." She seemed unconvinced and guilt-ridden, like she blamed his stupidity on herself, which really discounted the years of hard work it took to not be able to pronounce indubitably properly aloud. "Go home and memorize the dictionary some more. I'll see you bright and early."

Fiyero was glad he sent her home when he did because he was quite a sight as he schlepped his ungainly, sore self a path up the three flights of stairs to his room, veering a little with every pulse of his head. None of the guys he saw gave him any mind, accustomed as they were with the drunken lumbering of their dorm mates, even as he slipped off his suspenders mid-stairway and lurched into his door a second before he fully unfastened the lock. He kicked away his boots and passed out the moment he hit the pillows.

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**The response for the last chapter was incredible. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and thanks to everyone reading. Keep up reviewing like that and I bet I'll be motivated to post the next chapter really soon, which has a bit of Fiyeraba in it. :)**


	37. Chapter 36

**This was always one of my favorite chapters. I hope it's one of yours too. Let me know how you like it.**

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His head was pounding. Loud pounding. Loud, sharp pounding. Loud, sharp, rapid pounding…

No, that wasn't his head, Fiyero realized, pulling his face from his pillow to wipe the drool from his mouth groggily. He nearly fell back asleep but the knocking at his door persisted, seemingly without end, and he stumbled out of bed, hitching the waist of his pants up his hip and shuffled to the door, his movements more mechanical than purposeful. He opened the door just enough to stick his head in the gap.

He really didn't see Elphaba so much as he saw the color green through his crusty lashes.

"Morning," he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. His vision cleared enough to see her brow arched judgmentally.

"Good afternoon, you mean."

"Huh?" he grunted stupidly, his headache taking precedence over his usual compulsion to be charming.

"You missed Life Sciences and lunch," she said. She sounded fretful, like she was worked up by something. "I copied my notes for you."

He rubbed at his face aggressively, trying to wake himself up, but all he could think about was his splitting headache. It was going to make him throw up or topple over.

"How many drinks did I have last night?" he asked, leaning against his open door for support. The room was spinning; he was honestly going to retch if he had to stay upright any longer. She seemed to realize this and slipped in, grabbing him under the arm to guide him back to bed.

"Only about half of one."

"So…I'm not hung-over?"

He could hear the papers she held rustle and crinkle as they moved and delirium made him pleased that she was more concerned for him than the schoolwork, but then she dumped him on the bed unceremoniously.

"Probably not," she said down to him, helping him roll onto his back. For all her work with her crippled sister, she didn't seem to be very good at handling him, but then again, he probably weighed almost twice as much as delicate little Nessarose. "Oh, look at you—you bled on your pillowcase."

Fiyero lifted his head enough to see the small dried brown stains that had not been there the day before and frowned. It took him some time to differentiate the pulsing in his lip from the other throbbing, to feel it swollen with his tongue, and to taste the bitter dried blood. "Well, that would explain why my face hurts." And indeed it did. In particular, the side of his head where the brute slammed his burly fist really smarted. Part of him had been hell bent on believing that scuffle at the bar last night was just one of his bad dreams.

His eyes were falling shut again of his own accord, but opened slowly when he felt the weight of the bed shift. She had sat down on the edge, one leg tucked underneath the other so she could face him, and he could see the anguish on her features.

"You probably have a concussion," she pointed out ruefully. "I thought that, when you didn't come to class, that…" He hated how her brow was knitted, marring her face with worry. He wanted to reach up and smooth it out. "This shouldn't have happened. You shouldn't have done this for me."

"Don't be ridiculous," he murmured with a sleepy half-grin. "Wasn't for you. Been itching for a good, masculine rumble."

She breathed out a shaky laugh at him. "You're a terrible liar."

He wished it were true. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to be himself. He wanted to say the three words that caught in his throat every time they were alone.

He stretched his neck to let it sink back into the fluff of his pillow more comfortably. The nausea and vertigo were subsiding but his head continued to ache and he knew that Elphaba's hypothesis about his injury was probably correct.

Her hand was lingering on his shoulder, barely making contact with it, but her gaze fell down to the opening of the dress shirt he never removed the night before. She tentatively picked up the collar and pulled it back slowly, as though she were scared of what she was doing. "Those markings… They're beautiful. What are they?"

Fiyero felt himself smile. That game he played? The one in which he teased her with his diamonds? He was more than happy to end it, for her expression at that moment was worth it. "Tribal tattoos."

"Do all the men there have them?"

"Just the royal ones. Tradition."

"Were they painful?"

"At first." She reached for the small, blue jewels embedded in the skin above his breastbone but hesitated. "You can touch, I don't mind."

"I… It's just…other people…they don't like it when I touch them."

"I'm not like other people."

The corners of her eyes bunched a little at this and he returned the sincere expression as he watched her gently slide the shirt up – as if she was afraid of what she was doing – and look down at the design of diamonds that flowed down his chest. She reached out one of her fingers to gingerly touch one of the raised gems, then another, then another. His skin erupted with heat, even with the subtlest of movements of her timid touches, and without thinking he grabbed her hand and held it flattened against his stomach.

Her hazel eyes, dark in the dimness of his curtained room, locked onto his and for a second, he felt himself totally lost in them. It was if he could see the vitality of her very essence, the horrors of a neglected past, the hope for her future, and the absolutely confounding mystery that was intrinsically Elphaba Thropp. He couldn't explain how she could seem so innocent and so pure when she radiated raw passion and instincts the way she did, or the softness and stillness of her hand in his when he knew, as probably nobody else did, the staggering power that sought escape under her velvety skin.

But then she dragged her hand from under his and he felt cold with the loss. It was a reminder that she was here because of her crushing guilt about the fight he was in last night on her behalf, not because of anything romantic, and making any kind move on her probably wouldn't be properly received.

Not to mention he felt like shit and could barely keep his eyes open. It was a sad, sad day when Prince Fiyero Tiggular was nodding off at an attractive woman's caress, especially when she was literally the woman of his erotic fantasies.

"Just wait 'til everyone finds out how you were all over me in my bed."

She released a light scoff. "As if you'd tell anyone."

And his chuckle was throaty, no doubt unattractive, but he didn't care. Her presence was soothing and distantly familiar. He didn't know for how long his eyelids had been closed before he felt the corner of her thumb drag over the baggy skin under his eyes. "Why don't you sleep at night, Fiyero?"

He thought about all the possible answers to her question, about his nightmares, about how sleep had become less and less acceptable since he graduated Shiz, about how he spent so much time worrying about letting the horrors of the future repeat themselves, and about how at night he would wake with an accelerated heart rate – be it from fear or pleasure – and a state not conducive to sleeping. He thought about saying anything, nothing, everything, but the breath he conjured to utter them came out flat, barely a mumble.

"Sleep now then," Elphaba said softly, and added in a whisper so quiet that he almost wasn't sure it wasn't a real, "and thank you."

When he woke up later that night, she wasn't there, and it all felt like it had just been a dream. But there were papers on his desk that hadn't been there before, and even across the room in the dim light from the half-moon, Elphaba's spindly handwriting was unmistakable.

Was it possible for him to fall further for someone he was already head-over-heels for? He didn't know but it certainly seemed like it, for every day he broke through her carefully guarded barriers not only revealed more to him than he had ever seen but also made him warmer inside. He didn't know if she felt the same way, but he knew now that she was beginning to care for him. There were only a few weeks left of the semester, and while he didn't know if it was enough to make her love him, he only hoped that what he was doing was enough to get her to trust him.

He had to save her.


	38. Chapter 37

**It's my birthday today so I wanted to give you an extra chapter this weekend to celebrate, even if it is really brief. I realized today that I started posting this a little over a year ago and it was important to me to mention that I'm very grateful to everyone who has spent the last year with me on this. 3 Thank you!**

* * *

The next day in class, he bravely sat next to her, slipping her notes onto the small writing surface that hinged on the armrest of these auditorium seats. She accepted them back without comment, leaning down to slide the files into her messenger bag, and when she sat back up he made sure she'd see the bright-red apple he placed on the desk.

"Thank you," she had said, picking up the apple and turning it over in her hands as she smiled at him.

"Thank _you_," he returned. "Your notes were impressive. I can't even imagine Dr. Dillamond ever having that much to say."

"That's probably because you zone out during most of his lectures."

"Ah, true."

Her brows furrowed slightly over scanning eyes. "Are you okay?"

He realized she was looking over his bruised cheek and busted lip. He ran his tongue over it self-consciously and tried to ignore the throbbing of his undoubtedly fractured ribs. "Me? Yeah. I'm good."

"Does it hurt?"

"Eh, a little. I've been through worse."

"How much worse?"

He shrugged, saying truthfully, "Like I-didn't-think-I-was-going-to-survive worse."

Elphaba sat up at this, her mouth parting from horror, but her next question was lost as Dillamond called for attention. She looked his way more than once, just as timidly as she was about his tattoos, and he felt lucky that even an ounce of that curiosity she had for academics was directed at him. By the end of class, she either lost interest or lost her nerve, and though he had spent the hour developing a ridiculous and obviously fictitious story that started with him being kidnapped by bandits and ended with him being praised as a god to a rowdy race of tiny elves, she didn't ask him for more.

Even though he had looked forward to coaxing a smile out of her with his absurd yarn, he breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't have to actively lie to her. He wasn't sure if he'd ever tell her the truth: that he had been beaten to an inch of his life by the very men he had once commanded in order to save hers.


	39. Chapter 38

**Thank you all for the birthday wishes. By far the bet part of my otherwise un-wonderful week. **

**This chapter grossed out HollyBush. With that said, I hope you enjoy it :)**

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Underneath his favorite pearlfruit tree by the Suicide Canal, Fiyero lazed in a circle of his closest friends and felt sick to his stomach. Looking around, none of the girls – Elphaba, Galinda and Nessarose – nor the boys – Boq, Tibbett and Crope – seemed to be suffering the way he was, and he understood why: none of them were going through the hardship he was currently experiencing. They did not sympathize because they couldn't possibly comprehend his misery. Inhaling glumly, he asked them all, "Do you ever make a mistake so great, so _profound_ that you feel like your life could never possibly return to what it once was, no matter how much you wish it could?"

"Your sandwich can't be that bad, Fiyero."

"Oh, but it is," the prince said, staring morosely at the brown paper in front of him, on which was the yellowy mess of goo and bread he regretfully chose as his lunch.

Fiyero had been running a bit behind today, having been cornered by a group of young ladies who wanted to chat him up. He was much more comfortable flirting than he had been at first, which was proving to be as disadvantageous as could be expected. When he said he was heading to the refectory to grab lunch after class, they insisted on accompanying him, a girl hanging on each arm so heavily he feared he'd start sinking into the ground. A couple more hovered nearby, as if waiting for their own turn, and they cooed and giggled and teased him, ready to squeal with delight every time he responded to their banter.

He was glad to finally get to the cafeteria. It wasn't a place he preferred to stay; like the rest of Shiz, the building was at least a couple hundred years old. The old brick walls were oily gray, the floors were dingy stone, and the well-worn and well-stained hardwood tables and benches were always filled with the din of mind-numbing chatter. But even the most persnickety students had to eat, and there was nothing more convenient than the steam-table slops and chops. Okay, he wasn't giving it enough credit: Shiz did provide decent dining options as far as most universities went, but after months of eating food straight from the Emerald Palace's kitchen, the dumpling stews and corned beef and fried fish had usually left him wanting.

After thanking the girls profusely for their company, he shot away from them as quickly as was polite before they invited him to sit with them and beelined straight for the cold sandwich case, wanting a hearty roast-turkey hoagie. Alas, because of the long path through Shiz the girls had insisted on taking, the pre-made sandwiches had been picked through. Desperate to meet his friends before one of the young women found him again, he chose one of the scant paper-wrapped sandwiches left, paid, and sprinted across campus to the Shiz canal before it would be too late to steal any of Elphaba's lunch.

After Galinda had discovered that Fiyero and Elphaba sometimes would meet by the canal to share snacks, she had courteously made the effort to bring her own the next time she decided to join him: strawberries, dusted with sugar, naturally. Once Galinda started meeting them, Boq and Nessarose followed – Boq's affection for the blonde would not wane so easily, after all – and Boq's two best friends trailed closely behind them.

They were a charmed circle of friends that, in another life, would barely know each other. Fiyero reveled in it.

He was the last to arrive and sadly missed out on the spots of grass next to Elphaba, as those places were filled by her sister (who Elphaba had clearly helped from her chair to lounge about on the grass with the rest of them) and Galinda, and plopped down next to Boq on Nessarose's other side instead.

After a few estranged weeks, the two Munchkins had moved on from their breakup to be quite companionate. However, to the keen eye, it was easy to see the way Nessa would watch Boq with sad, envious eyes, especially as he spluttered and stammered after the pretty Galinda, but surprisingly she kept her feelings to herself. She had taken Fiyero's advice to heart, she said to him when he asked her about it, about accepting that she and Boq could still have and share affection without it being romantic. It was she who went to Boq and asked if they could still be friends, and little Boq, being the genial fellow that he was, gladly accepted.

Nessarose told Fiyero that she still loved Boq, but Fiyero knew that what the girl felt wasn't _love_. Maybe it wasn't fair to decide that for someone else, but he couldn't help but appraise it rationally. Nessarose attached herself to the first man that showed her any attention besides her father and became infatuated with him, and more importantly, with the idea that despite being crippled she could have a classic love story. Boq was the unfortunate chap who stumbled into that happily-ever-after fill-in-the-blank for her.

Nessarose was not so mature that she could truly let go of the resentment she held in regard to Boq's dillydallying shillyshallying. He led her on, in her mind, and no amount of prayer could really ease away the bitter thoughts within her that thinned the lips and subtly lined the brow of her smooth, pretty face.

Elphaba's sister had such potential to be someone Fiyero could respect, but Elphaba's blunt observation of Nessarose once upon a time was wiser in hindsight than it had been at the time: Nessarose liked her place on her self-made pedestal, high above them with her spiritual superiority, and should she ever come down to Oz and be one with her bitchiness then maybe she'd be more tolerable. Until then, she was too self-consumed and too damned self-righteous. She didn't care about Boq as a person, she didn't care about the citizens of Munchkinland that had been in her charge after her father's passing in his alternate life, and she didn't care about her sister beyond what was necessary. But, what Fiyero observed that perhaps no one else had, was that Nessarose contained herself _because _of her sister. She often alluded to Elphaba's habits of misbehavior, of willfulness, of emotionalism, and she dared not to fall to such lows herself. And as long as her sister would be around providing some ever-present behavioral antithesis, Fiyero didn't believe that the future governor of Munchkinland would also be the future Wicked Witch of the East.

But the promise that Nessa showed in staying friends with Boq was something. It showed a hint of reasonableness, assuming she would eventually move on from the feelings of attachment she had yet to abandon; but those things often came in time, especially when those feelings were not of love. Which Fiyero was confident they weren't.

Fiyero knew he understood love. It was a foolish thing to assume, especially given his history, but throughout his life he had experienced plenty of girls with whom he had felt real attraction and dozens of dozens more who were entirely besotted by him, as he experienced this afternoon. He was a good-looking prince and girls liked that sort of thing. But in Elphaba, he experienced enchantment that transcended any of that. It was the sort of obsession that stuck deeply with a person, like the head of an arrow lodged in his chest, one that ached and sent a flood of adrenaline each time he thought of her. In the time he spent looking for her, Fiyero often wondered if his fixation was love, for it was beyond anything he had known before, but at that point it wasn't. Love was that vortex that he was irreversibly sucked into the moment he truly looked into her eyes once he found her, it was the gravity that grounded him with her kiss, and it was the safe box he gave her with his heart the moment he told her to save herself in that cornfield.

Love, at its most pure, was the opposite of what he felt for this sandwich.

"Who came up with the idea of egg-salad sandwiches anyway?" Fiyero grumbled. He was laying on his side on the grass, which was cool and shaded and smelled fresh like it had been recently cut, with his head propped up on a hand while the other one poked at his lunch in front of him. "There are some things that should not be made into a salad and some salads that should not be made into sandwiches. This is an example of something that fits into both of those categories."

"Then why did you get it?" Elphaba said, unamused. She was sitting cross-legged, trying not to move much as Galinda played with her hair, and given that Elphaba already had a few braids in her dark tresses before he arrived he could only imagine how difficult it was to tolerate the blonde as long as she did. But Fiyero was constantly impressed at the patience Elphaba could keep around Galinda and her antics; it seemed like one of those things that would be out-of-character for her but somehow wasn't.

"It was accidental. I thought I was grabbing one of those stinky cheese sandwiches I like – you know, the one with the pepper aioli – or at the very least tuna." Pulling a face, the prince took another disgruntled bite, and as he chewed the soggy mess he shuddered and whimpered.

"You don't have to eat it."

"Look who you're talking to," Crope laughed. He was twisting thin branches of pearlfruit tree into a wreath with the ease and adeptness of an artist; the tiny leaves that faded from dark green at the base to pale pink at the very tip were quite pretty. "I once saw Fiyero eat a full tray of curried turkey wings in an eating contest at the pub one night. His opponent was 300 pounds. Guess who won! I'll give you a hint: it wasn't the fat guy."

"That's revolting, Fiyero," said Galinda chirpily, using the hand not laced with multiple plaits to steal neat bites of yogurt parfait.

"_Why_ would you do that?" Elphaba said, clearly disgusted by every aspect of Crope's story.

"I had a point to make," Fiyero said with a shrug, hoping to appear nonchalant. Truthfully, he was embarrassed. He didn't like to talk about eating meat in front of Elphaba; he admired her vegetarian lifestyle. He had already made a great effort since returning to Shiz to cut back on eating so much meat, if only so he didn't create many opportunities to offend her with his meal choices. But Fiyero Tiggular, becoming vegetarian? _That_ wasn't going to happen, no matter how much he loved her.

"Look, Fiyero, if you hate the sandwich so much just trade me. You can have my apple."

"Wait, you eat eggs?" Fiyero asked Elphaba.

"Why is that such a surprise?" Galinda asked curiously.

"Well…aren't eggs meat?"

"Meat? Fiyero that's ridiculous! Eggs aren't meat!" Galinda said with a scoff.

"They come from chickens, and they turn into chickens. Sounds like meat to me."

"Until they're fertilized, eggs are merely a byproduct of the animal," Elphaba educated. "Eggs are no more of a meat than milk is."

"So eggs are dairy," Galinda concluded, stirring her yogurt confidently. "That would make sense. They're kind of similar to dairy items, and they are sold with cheeses and creams at the market!"

"Well, no," Elphaba said, her voice thinning with hesitance as she considered her words. "_Dairy_ by definition is a product that is created by the mammary glands of a mammal, so eggs aren't dairy either. Categorically, they're meat because of the protein they contain, but so are nuts and beans so that tells you how sensible that classification is."

Nessarose, in her ever-so-helpful way, added, "Unionist scripture makes the issue of diet quite clear: '_Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things. But flesh with life thereof, which is the blood thereof, shall ye not eat.'" _

"What does that even mean," Tibbett deadpanned, and rather than engage him Nessarose merely turned her nose up his way. Tibbett, being the kind of guy he was, loved challenging Nessa's religiousness and she had only just begun to learn not to fall for his prompts for debate. Fiyero was glad, because they conversed with each other as if they spoke two completely different languages, for his logic was wasted on her and her doctrines were lost on him. It wasn't as much fun to witness as it sounded.

"I don't understand that either," Galinda admitted.

"Ooh! Flash debate!" called out Tibbett, before Nessa could get going on one of her sermons, and he turned to Crope with feigned seriousness. "Chicken or the egg! Go!"

"Which came first? Easy! Egg!" said Crope, who pointed to Fiyero.

Fiyero shrugged. "Sure, egg."

"But what laid the egg?" Galinda disputed. "A chicken had to do it."

"But the chicken had to come from an egg," Boq said, troubled, "which came from a chicken. Is there a right answer to this question?"

"Of course there is. Multiple places in scripture suggest that the Unnamed God put fowl upon the earth with other beasts and man so that they may all multiply and populate the world!"

"So Nessa votes chicken," Crope said neutrally. "That leaves Elphie. Ohh, this should be good."

Elphaba rolled her eyes at him but said to her sister, "I'm sorry Nessa, but as an evolutionist I vote egg. Since deoxyribonucleic acid can be modified before or after birth, it's implied that mutation takes place at conception or during development. In the case of the chicken, it infers that a creature similar to a chicken, but not a chicken per se, laid the egg that would eventually be inbred to the bird with which we are familiar."

"What I really want to know is how do you know the egg is from an animal and not an Animal?" Fiyero asked, picking at the crust of his sandwich. "Are there such things as Eggs?"

"No. There's no life to an unfertilized egg, so there isn't any _Life_ either. The egg itself is not an Animal any more than the ovum I discharge during monthly menstruation is a baby."

"So Fiyero is eating chicken menstruation on bread," Crope laughed. "Delectable!"

Now Fiyero _definitely_ couldn't eat his sandwich. He put it down on the paper and wiped his hand clean on the grass while Crope snorted at his expense.

"Such matters are not appropriate for open discussion, especially at meal times," Nessa scolded.

"Since it's already out there, I gotta know," Tibbett said. "You're not offended consuming something that is a byproduct of something else? You wouldn't eat your own oval-egg thing, whatever you called it."

"'Ovum,'" Elphaba repeated for him. "That's not feasible or rational, so obviously no. But consider that infants drink breast milk from human women the same way we consume the milk of cows and goats."

"But _you_ wouldn't drink a person's breast milk!"

"I would be open to trying it," Elphaba said without reserve. "Aren't you curious?"

"That's probably the sexiest thing I've ever heard," Fiyero breathed, his eyes wide, and involuntarily stole a glance at her well-hidden but, as he knew, very alluring breasts. Thankfully, no one paid him any attention.

"Let me put it to you this way Thropp— whatever _milk_ I drink that comes out of a person won't be from a lady, thank you very much," he stated, at which he and Crope shared a smug high-five. Boq's palm met his forehead with a loud clap. Elphaba, amused, shook her head at them. Galinda just seemed confused.

"Oh Fabala, why must you talk so much? You always manage to take things too far," Nessarose admonished.

"I was just answering Fiyero's question, and Tibbett's after that."

"Can't you do so without bringing up such private matters?"

"Women menstruate and lactate. It's natural. Why does such a topic mortify you so?"

"It's distasteful to discuss. Leave it at that, Elphaba— not every taboo requires challenge."

"You know, one time my mom was cooking eggs from our henhouse and she ended up breaking one open that had a birdie fetus in it," Boq said cheerfully, as if to deter a fight between the sisters. "It had a little tiny beak and everything."

Fiyero pulled a face at Boq's slipshod attempt to placate the girls. Elphaba was offended, sure, but more importantly: did the little Munchkin forget that Nessa was on a crusade for propriety? "Boq, please! You're no better than Elphaba! What makes you think that would be a compliment to this already foul discussion—"

"But Nessa, don't you mean _fowl_ discussion?" Galinda asked sweetly, blinking with such exaggerated innocence that even Nessarose couldn't resist a smile as everyone laughed.

Stealing a glance at Elphaba, he took time to submerge himself in the swell of serenity he had in moments like these. While the burden of his secrets never disappeared, in passing moments like these in which he could simply relax around friends and experience Elphaba so candidly, the troubles felt far away. Her full smile was a rare treat, like some sort of delectable fruit that was special and nourishing.

While her sister may take offense to such candor, Fiyero was greatly attracted to Elphaba's forthrightness. Had any other woman talked about their menstruation and he would be on his feet and gone before they finished their sentence, but as strange as it was such a thing captivated him about the green girl. She spent so much of her time substantiating the idea that she was different than the other girls – Fiyero supposed it was an easy thing to do when one was born as she was – that the reminders that she really wasn't thrilled him for her. No matter what anyone else believed, she wasn't defected and abnormal. She was a woman and she was a woman who could bear children.

He never gave into fantasies about faraway impossible futures, but he allowed himself some rare whimsy: He imagined some future Elphaba tucked up against him, smiling that bright smile as giggling green and tan rugrats chased themselves in circles around their feet…

A slight tickle on his scalp startled him, and he looked over to see Crope had taken advantage of his distraction to start carefully inserting tiny, leafy twigs leftover from his garland project into the prince's hair. Embarrassed to be caught in the middle of a daydream, he shoved his sandwich in his mouth again and began chewing, hoping he wasn't blushing at all.

"Galinda, do you know the man staring at us?"

"I can't say that I do," the socialite answered her best friend. They were both peering behind him toward the main campus.

"People stand around gawping like they've never seen a green person before," Elphaba groused wryly, to which Galinda giggled.

"He's impeccably dressed—always an admirable quality. His adornment seems Vinkun. Pashmina, I think. What do you think, Fiyero?"

Chewing lazily, Fiyero rolled over on his back to look across the lawn to see the mysterious figure about whom the girls spoke. Squinting against the glint from the high windows of the university, it took Fiyero a moment to decide if he recognized the man. Sweet Ozma Ridiculous, he did! Gasping, Fiyero accidentally breathed in chunks of egg and started to choke intensely, springing up and sideways so he could retch on the grass, frantic to clear his airway.

"Why does Fiyero always seem to choke on his food around us?" Galinda whined.

"It might have something to do with the fact that he's constantly eating," the green girl muttered back dryly.

"Oh Bick, give him the Heimlich if your arms can reach."

"My arms aren't _that_ short! Just because I'm a Munchkin doesn't mean—"

While they argued, Fiyero slammed a balled-up fist into his own diaphragm repeatedly until he coughed up the bite of egg and bread, followed closely by something that seemed to be a combination of a hiccup and a belch.

"Ooh, classy," Tibbett teased, as Elphaba thoughtfully gave Fiyero the rest of her water and he drained the container desperately.

Mortified, Fiyero wiped the drips of water from the side of his mouth as he straightened and stood, turning to look at the familiar man standing across the lawn from them, unmoving, his hands resting in his pockets the way Fiyero sometimes stood. Without a word to his friends, he walked away from them, leaving them murmuring in confusion and calling after him as he left them and that sandwich under the comfort of the pearlfruit tree.

With every step, he regretted leaving Elphaba behind. Whether she knew it or not – and he knew she did not – he had begun to rely on the strength and softness of her fleeting gaze far too much to assuage his distresses and the tension in his gut when self-doubt struck him hardest. That twisting inside increased with every step he took to meet the set of hard, leaden-blue eyes in front of him with his own.

"Hello Father."


	40. Chapter 39

**Hi. I missed you all. **

**Now may I present: His Royal Majesty.**

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Under the mellow Shiz sunlight, standing at the forefront of the antiquated blue-stone walls of the university and ornamented by the pink and white trees in bloom, King Marillot Tiggular was an impressive sight. His brown hair was thinner – his slightly receded hairline was something Fiyero noticed was similar to the one he would begin to have in a couple years' time – and far darker than Fiyero's, and his full, trimmed beard framed a frown with which the prince was very familiar. Like Fiyero, Marillot favored modern clothing instead of heavy ceremonial garbs that many people often expected out of Arjiki clansmen – his dark, pinstriped suit was well-tailored to his physique – but unlike the prince, the king represented his heritage with a colorful, hand-woven Vinkun stole draped over his strapping shoulders.

It had been a very, very long time since he was faced with the stare-down from that intimidating gray gaze. When he had visited home during breaks from school, he avoided his father in favor of his mother's company. No way had the King of the Vinkus ever bothered to visit him before at school, having always sent family representatives to deal with the disciplinary actions required by universities every time he was booted from one. Most recently, he had seen his father briefly when the man passed through the Emerald City and they met for drinks at the costly social clubhouse to which they both were members. Fiyero had been a lieutenant in the Gale Force at that time, so in this timeline, it had never happened. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his father before Shiz.

He certainly had never seen his father _at Shiz_.

Fiyero cleared his throat uneasily. "What are you doing here?" He ran a nervous hand through his hair and was horrified to find the little leaves Crope had adorned it with. He hurriedly brushed them away.

His father raised a stern brow appropriate for both the leaves and the question. "Am I not allowed to visit my son if I so choose?"

"Yes, but…I cannot stress enough how much you _shouldn't_ be here."

"I realize that my visit is rather unprecedented, but so was the post I received from you."

He spoke of the letter to Kiamo Ko, the one in which Fiyero had sworn six different ways that he was a changed man and focused on the future. Fiyero had forcefully put it out of mind since he given it to a courier weeks ago. Its contents were embarrassing enough to linger on; no correspondence in return was just insult to injury.

"I'm appreciative of your interest, but a return letter would have saved you hours of travel time."

"I considered it," Marillot said. "But your boasted personal betterment deserved one in return. I deemed the likelihood might be worth the effort."

Fiyero wasn't a boy anymore. As much bitterness as he harbored for his father's disregard in the past, the man was here now, apparently curious but undoubtedly unconvinced about the value he had been promised to see in his son. Fiyero bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and said, "I'm honored by your visit," surprising himself with his lack of sarcasm.

Fiyero's father had a way of thoroughly conveying himself with taciturnity and heavy expressions. As they stood there in uncomfortable silence, it seemed as though the normal platitudes – _Hello, it's nice to see you, what weather you have here –_ were given in the deep lines in his skin around his eyes. The _Perhaps there's something to this_ was in the upward twitch of his cheek. But the king was prepared to be disappointed, almost challenging him with crease of disdain as his brow pinched together and the twisting of his mouth.

Fiyero wasn't like that. He internalized his state of mind and filtered it through a carefully constructed façade, which growing up seemed to be the rational instinctive reaction. He willed his apprehension far behind his walls, mimicking his father by putting his hands in his pockets and adopting his normal casual demeanor. Caring about things was a choice, and he decided there was no use fretting about his father's unexpected presence.

"Let's walk," Marillot demanded, not as a king would but as a father would.

They slowly trailed the curving bank of the canal, saying nothing; having the advantage of maturation from a career in the military was surprisingly useless when by all reason it didn't exist. Fiyero was twitchy, simultaneously engrossed in mental timelines and theories of special relativity and buzzing in his skin.

"I recently had a very curious meeting with Malkim," the king said finally. "Do you remember who he is?"

"Our EC banker."

"He seemed rather reticent to bring up a rather substantial withdrawal you made," Marillot said, stopping their short stroll at the nearby bridge to face his son with rigid intensity. "He was unable to justify it on your behalf and seemed afraid of my reaction to such news."

"I apologize for causing Malkim undue stress," Fiyero hedged politely.

"Fiyero, I've been very tolerant of your behavior over the years in expectation that your flippancies and your cavorting would sort itself out in time; however, I am not interested in discoverating that you extracted and squandered a small fortune of our country's capital for selfish gains. Should such evidence come to light, I would insist on considering more supervised arrangements be made to your education from here on out."

"That won't be necessary," the son replied tepidly, not rising to the bait. "The money was invested, not squandered."

"Invested," the king repeated, his head angling slightly in his intrigue. "In what, exactly?"

"A somewhat chancy venture that I think potentially benefits the Vinkus as much as it does the rest of Oz," Fiyero explained, "in addition to a variety of smaller, more lucrative stocks of emerging enterprises that should completely replenish the missing funds and more within a couple of years."

"And what is this venture, exactly?"

"Scientific research here at the university. The substantial returns we will see in the next few years from my investments were made to more than compensate for the endowment to the school—"

"You sound confident."

"You could say I've done my homework. I know the best places to place my money."

"Please explain to me why you, of all people, would take an interest in _academic_ _research_ and how you can possibly rationalize it."

"There's a professor here at the university who is experimenting on the biological differentiation between humans, animals, and Animals. With any luck, we will be able to establish that the Wizard's Animal Banns have no scientific basis and oppose his repression of entire races of innocent people, including the thousands that call the Vinkus their home."

"When I consulted with her, your headmistress didn't mention your interest in the life sciences."

"It's not her business."

"She didn't seem to have much to say of you at all, as a matter of fact. She acted as though she had forgotten you attend her school. Rather daft, if you ask me. I didn't much care for the woman."

"I abhor her, but Elphaba thinks magic light shines from her ass or something—"

"So," Marillot interrupted loftily. "This _is_ about a girl."

"Excuse me?"

"Fiyero, I never doubted that one day you'd outgrow your dancing and your philandering and your scandalizing of all of Oz," Marillot said, leaning against the white stone of the bridge. "But I know you, son. You're no philanthropist. You're no soldier. You're no scholar. Yet you claim you're determined to graduate with a degree in law and you're giving away your money and involving yourself in a controversial matter with which you have no direct claim."

"I don't understand."

"Son, the moment I received your letter, I knew it meant that you had met a girl. Someone special that made you want to be a better man. Is it the blonde?"

"The blonde?" he repeated stupidly, following his father's pointed nod to the group of his friends – of Galinda, Elphaba, Nessarose, Boq, Tibbett and Crope – still sheltered underneath his favored pearlfruit tree.

"She seems like your type."

He was embarrassed. Was he little better than just a man made by his love for a woman? Was that even such a bad thing? From here, Galinda's hair seemed to catch the sunlight in a way that made her glow but it was Elphaba, blending into the shade and the grass, who attracted his gaze. In one life he chose Galinda and he ended up with a life of empty, lonely success. But in choosing Elphaba this time, he knew his servitude to her could be nothing but a noble choice, one without regret or indignity.

"It's not the blonde," he admitted.

"But you don't deny that there is someone." Marillot stepped toward his son and put an unexpectedly sympathetic hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. Fiyero met his eyes unflinchingly. "Fiyero… Before I married I was not so different from you. To be born with obligations as we are is daunting, and no intelligent man wouldn't be disheartened at the prospect of the challenges of leadership. I myself was adolescent and bitter – so much so that I attribute your overall amicability to your mother – and I contested vehemently against every mandate my father ever had for me, even the idea of marriage. But even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and wedding your mother was the best choice he could have made for me. She tempered me in a way he nor my duties never had before.

"Men like us come to terms with our fates differently than others. I could have forced upon you my expectations the way they had been unto me but instead I let you parade about and let you suffer the weight of your lot however you saw fit; never had I a doubt that one day you'd return a wiser man to assume your birthright."

"You make your negligence seem so sage."

"I have yet to be proven wrong."

How incongruous it was that King Marillot of the Vinkus had indeed gravely miscalculated and yet would never be proven otherwise, for once his young son had irreversibly deserted his throne when he liberated the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard's palace and did so without remorse.

"Congratulations," Fiyero muttered resentfully.

"Acerbity doesn't become you," Marillot replied coolly. "However you turn out is no reflection of my parenting skills, I'm aware of this. Whatever kind of man – the kind of _king_ – you become will be owed to you and perhaps to whatever woman has inspired you so. You still haven't told me about her. This…this _Elphaba_."

"I didn't realize we had that kind of relationship."

"Change is in the air," he remarked. "What is she like?"

"She's stubborn, idealistic," he bit at his father to satisfy him, but realized that confessing his admirations was so cathartic after years of keeping them to himself. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to tell someone all the things about Elphaba that spurred such impetus and devotion within him. "She has so much integrity that just being around her when she's impassioned is exhausting and exciting all at once."

"Is she beautiful?"

"_So_ beautiful," he confessed. "She doesn't comprehend that. No one really does. She's different. Really, truly different, but I find that exceptional and nothing you could say could convince me otherwise."

"And why would I…?" Marillot began, following Fiyero's pining stare to the pearlfruit tree, where his friends were collecting themselves as they did at the end of every lunch hour. Elphaba was absorbed with carefully assisting Nessarose into her chair as everyone else chatted cheerfully around them, playacting as though they all weren't spying on and gossiping about the Vinkun men down the canal from them. "The crippled girl?"

"No," Fiyero said, waiting for the truth to strike.

Sure enough, a second later, Marillot narrowed his stony eyes disbelievingly. "Is she—?"

"Green, yes," Fiyero said, impulsively riled. "But if you even think for a second that—"

"You don't know what I think," Marillot interrupted forcefully, pointing a cross finger in Fiyero's face. "I'm shocked, certainly, as anyone in their right mind would be, but don't you dare project your insecurities about the rest of the world on me! I'm chieftain of a diverse, _colorful_ nation of people. Did you think your acceptance of her skin color was so remarkable, as though you weren't raised in a land of sundry tribes?"

"I didn't mean—"

"Of course you didn't; you're young and naïve," Marillot said condescendingly. Fiyero crossed his arms in front of his chest petulantly. "But I understand your pessimism. Racism has always existed as an epidemic in Oz— against us _Winkies_, against those Animals you evidently care so much about. But it also exists within our culture as well. You and I are no different than the other mixed men of our lands who are too light to fit in with our countrymen and too dark to blend in to the rest of Oz. I can only scarcely imagine how difficult this girl's life has been to be so…distinctive."

_Her green skin is but an outward manifestation of her twisted nature… _

_This distortion, this repulsion…_

_She's evil…_

Wicked_…_

A horrible taste settled in his mouth. "You have no idea."

"How would it affect her job as queen?"

"_Queen?_" he yelped. "I never said anything about marrying her!" Not that there would ever be anyone else.

"But one day you might," Marillot reasoned. "And when that day comes we will have to reprise this unpleasant discussion whether you like it or not. So indulge me. What makes a green girl suited for the crowned prince of my nation?"

Fiyero was crawling within himself, disgusted with having to endorse her for such a role for which she didn't know she was even a contender. He liked to hope for a future with Elphaba but he still had yet to find a middle ground between the distinctive parts of _himself_ – the prince, the soldier, the scandalacious playboy, the inamorato of the most abhorrent person in Oz– and to try to do the same to Elphaba, who didn't even know she had a throne in his castle in the sky let alone in his family home, was preposterous.

But what if, in some idyllic future, she would have him as hers?

"She's the best student at Shiz, bar none," he said grudgingly but proudly. "Scary smart. And she's daughter to the governor of Munchkinland…though it is her sister who will succeed their father."

"Her sister is older?"

"No, just paler and meeker."

"Ah. So…Governor Frexspar is afraid of his eldest."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to," Marillot said shrewdly. "A weak man fears anomaly and candor and revels in control. A girl like you've described would threaten that and be spurned for it. It says a lot about his character, and there's nothing more valuable than the knowledge of a man of power." Was this one of many lessons his letter invited now that his father had deemed him worthy? The king's hard and focused expression unnerved him. "She sounds like someone I want to meet."

"Perhaps someday."

"No. Tonight, for dinner. Bring her to the club."

"What?" he sputtered. "No, that's not possible."

"And why not?"

"It wouldn't be appropriate."

"Son, it doesn't matter how green she is, she should accept an invitation with me on virtue of her Thropp pedigree alone, regardless of your doting protectiveness of her. Invite her to dinner or I will."

"You misunderstand." Oh hell, he could feel the heated rush under his skin and he tensed at his father's unwavering attention to him in his discomfort. "She doesn't know. A-about me. About how I feel. We're…just friends."

"You're telling me that there's a girl out there who has managed to turn my carefree, unmotivated son into a straight-laced champion of her politics and you're telling me she's just a _friend?_" Fiyero ground his teeth but didn't argue. What was there to say? That was the patronizing gist of it. Marillot let out an astounded scoff. "Well I'll be damned. Fine. Invite that professor then—I want to know where my money is going."

"I'll see if he is available."

"Does he have any preferences for dinner?"

"I doubt he's finicky." His mouth twitched up at his father's creasy expression. "He's a Goat, after all."

"Well boy, you certainly pick interesting company, don't you?"


	41. Chapter 40

**Hi. What can one say when they've vanished off of the face of the earth for months? "Hi" doesn't seem enough and"I'm sorry" is cliche but true. I've had health problems that have caused chronic headaches; I've spent thousands of dollars and so many wasted months in search of relief and while I've had some, it doesn't bring back certain things that get lost during crappy times, like passion and attention span, which are important tools in a writer's kit. **

**Still, my love for all of you hasn't wavered. Neither has Fiyero's for Elphaba. Please enjoy a cheerful chapter, which is my thank you to all of you who have waited so patiently and have reviewed and favorited. :)**

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When Fiyero went to the refectory for breakfast, he preferred going early. He beat the crowds, received the freshest food, and was able to enjoy a quieter meal than what could be achieved by waiting a couple of hours. Students that awoke this early were usually few and far between and they typically were the ones that weren't so social.

Which is why he was rather startled when someone slid purposefully onto the bench across from him.

"How did it go with your father?"

Fiyero couldn't resist giving Elphaba's question and presence an amused half-smile. "Aren't you going to even bother proceeding such a question with small talk?"

"No," she said, like it was a ridiculous thought. With her, he supposed it was. "Are you going to answer the question?"

"Not immediately," Fiyero answered puckishly. Her long hair was pulled into a messy bun, reminiscent of the witch she might become who didn't have the luxury of combing her hair every day, and he couldn't help but appreciate her natural and unusual beauty. "I couldn't help but notice the light on in your bedroom quite early again today."

"Should I be concerned that you're paying such close attention to Galinda's and my bedroom window?"

"It's hard not to notice when it's the only other lamp on at cockcrow."

"And what of your light? Were you too preoccupied to sleep as a result of your father's visit?" she questioned, her expression too intelligent for such wee hours. He narrowed his eyes at her segue.

"Clever, Thropp. You first. Tell me why you're always up so early and I'll tell you how the royal chat went."

Elphaba glared, unhappily deliberating his deal, and her taciturnity piqued his interest. He grinned and leaned in, propping his chin on his hand, and watched her, purposely and cheekily displaying patience that they both knew she didn't have. She snorted at this but still looked away, chagrinned. "The showers are empty."

His playful expression faded in his confusion. "Huh?"

She rolled her eyes, her pursed lips pulling to one side in her annoyance. "It turns out," she muttered reluctantly, "that no matter how many times you catch the green girl washing, it's always funny."

"But…you…what…" he stuttered, unable to articulate his indignation. "But _why_? You're gorg—" He choked and garbled, catching himself. "I mean, you're, you know, slender. You've got everything in the right spots, and, um, it's all, like, proportional? I think! Not that I know— I couldn't know."

"I would hope not," she said dismissively, but still with a sardonic lift of her eyebrow.

"What do they say about you when they find you in there? No wait, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know."

"What, you don't want a good laugh too?"

"I like humor with a little more sophistication. Like: What did the Buffalo say to his son as he left for college?" He paused for dramatic effect, unable to resist grinning as he dropped the punchline: "Bison!"

"I'm torn between not wanting to acknowledge the stupidity of your joke and wanting to educate you on the differences between Buffalo and Bison."

"Admit it, it was funny."

"I refuse," she said, but with the tips of her lips tilting upwards just enough that he beamed in triumph. "What are you eating, anyway?" she asked, as if merely to change the subject. She grabbed his fork and poked at his breakfast, inspecting it for meat, much to his amusement.

"It's vegetarian and off-menu. Crumpet topped with herb-roasted tomato, poached egg, and a white wine lemon cream sauce. It's remarkable what food those ladies can cook up when supplied a regular bottle of top-shelf liquor."

"You've bought off the cafeteria ladies with booze?"

"You make it sound so crass. I've merely acquired their culinary proficiencies by way of donation of quality spirits when I have a particular epicurean craving."

"So you bought them with booze."

"I like to think that I bought them with my winning personality and charm and that the alcohol is merely a gift between friends."

Elphaba still had his fork and without asking coated it in some of the excess sauce on the plate and brought it to her perfect lips to taste it. He slid the dish halfway between them, giving her full access. She took the invitation and cut herself a bite of his gourmet breakfast.

He couldn't imagine in a million centuries that Elphaba, despite her boldness, would _ever_ pick up the eating utensil of Galinda Upland – or even her sister! – and put it in her mouth. She was so careful of certain boundaries. She was too insecure, too apprehensive.

But not with him, it would seem. Small victory, he thought with pleasure.

"When was the last time you had seen your father before yesterday?"

He stole the fork back to stab a bite he wanted for himself. "I never even said that he was my father in the first place. Look at you, jumping to conclusions."

"I have eyes, Fiyero," she said, using said eyes to glare at him as he handed the fork back. "Give me some credit. I don't need an official announcement in the press to see the resemblance."

"Don't say that," Fiyero groaned.

Elphaba smirked while she chewed. "I'd think you'd be flattered."

"And if I said that you looked like your father?"

"I don't think Father would care for that much."

"If only he was so lucky," Fiyero flattered gently. Elphaba's expression became strained at this, shaking her head at his wasted charm. "Are you having issues again with Governor Frexspar the Godly Ass?"

"'Godly Ass'?" she repeated, one side of her mouth raising wryly.

"Are you offended?"

"Perhaps I should be," she admitted, and they shared a small, mellow smile appropriate for the early hour. "But no, I haven't spoken to my father in some weeks, except through Nessa. I realize I prefer it that way. Have you been corresponding with yours? Is that why he visited?"

"He never wrote me back. I wasn't prepared for his arrival."

"Did it go poorly?"

"Actually," he said, grabbing her fingers where they were gripped around the fork and guiding the next bite of food into his mouth, much to her faux vexation. He spoke through the mouthful in a very impolite way. "It went fine."

"Just 'fine'?"

"I'm satisfied with that. Lowered expectations limit disappointments. I think that is something he and I have in common in regards to our relationship with one another."

"What did you speak about?"

"Oh, you know, normal king/prince things: Money, politics…you."

"Me?"

"Why, yes. Out of all of my friends, he found you most intriguing."

"What a surprise. Let me guess: 'Is that her natural skin color or does she dye it for attention?' or 'Does it change hue depending on her mood?'"

"The latter would certainly be helpful, but no. He was more interested in your…what's the word? Matrilineality."

"The Thropp line? Why? Nessarose would be the interesting one then; I'm not inheriting the governance."

"That's exactly why." She didn't need to know that it was also because the Winkie prince was also smitten with her. Somehow it didn't seem pertinent thing to explain at that moment. "He thinks Governor Godly Ass is threatened by you."

"By my magic, perhaps."

"Not by your magic. By you."

"That's absurd."

"Is it?" Fiyero challenged, watching her carefully as she became agitated and uncomfortable. "You're the brilliant one. The political one. You have ambition and conviction. Your sister, on the other hand, is submissive and acquiescent. Which would an egotistical regent choose given the option?"

"You give my father more credit than he deserves. The reason, I think, is far simpler than any of that."

There was no reason to elaborate. He knew what she would say: She was green. It was the foundation of every self-doubt she would have in her life because it was the first thing everyone perceived and judged her for.

"I don't know how well you know this, but most of my people – the people of the Vinkus – are dark skinned," Fiyero told her, and Elphaba nodded. He nearly kept the thought to himself, afraid to ruin the jollity of their banter, but her fiery eyes were focused so intently on him that he felt validated and invigorated. "When I was a boy, many of my friends were ochre. Vinkun royalty has been bred with wealthy Gillikinese for generations, which lightened our skin in the way that your family has been bred to be tall. I doubt you can disagree that those with pale skin are favored in society."

"I have noticed a preference," Elphaba commented, snarky.

Fiyero took a moment to watch her green nails pick at a particularly deep scratch in the table; Fiyero wished to reach out and take her hand in his, but there was no fork or object in it to use as an excuse for such an action this time and without being sure of how she might take such an action, he didn't risk it.

"I can't explain to you how often I've wished that I could look more like my people."

She was clearly unsettled and shifted in her seat. "Why?"

"To look at things another way," he said with a broad smile as he took another bite, pleased with himself.

She shook her head at him and let out a heavy sigh, likely questioning his good sense. "You bewilder me sometimes."

"Which is one step closer to rendering you speechless, which is the ultimate challenge," he pronounced with a cheek full of yolky bread.

"_There's _the Fiyero we all know and tolerate."

He nearly quipped, "_You love me, admit it,_" but managed to resist. He would probably hyper-analyze her reaction until he made himself nuts trying to determine whether she did, or even worse, would straight out deny it, and either way it was far too early in the morning for such fretting.

"I remembered him being bigger," Fiyero said instead. "My dad."

"He was, once," she jested, but her eyes expressed a pleasure that heartened him more than his father's approval ever would. "Do you think he's finally proud of you like you wanted?"

Fiyero shrugged. "Turns out I don't care anymore."

"Then perhaps there is hope for me as well," she mused, that beautiful smirk in place. It fell away with a cursory glance beyond him and to his disappointment, she took that moment as her leave and she began to walk away without a glance back or even a thank you for eating his breakfast. Not that one was necessary— anything of his was hers, no question or hesitation.

She proved that perfect etiquette was overrated and he loved her for that.

"Bye son!" he called at her back, unable to resist a last jab in her direction.

She spun around at the doorway just long enough for him to grin widely at her exasperated expression and stern finger pointed in his direction, "Don't make that a thing."

He laughed as she slipped out of the refectory. Once Avaric dumped himself in her seat, he realized the timing of her exit was no accident.

"What's for breakfast?" Avaric said, dragging his finger through the leftover sauce on his plate without asking. Suddenly craving proper etiquette again, Fiyero suppressed the desire to criticize his manners when his friend began sucking the yellow cream off his digit obscenely, moaning suggestively.

Fiyero let out an exaggerated sigh, already missing Elphaba. "Classy, bro."

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**The next chapters are written. If you take a couple seconds to review and tell me your thoughts, I'll get them up very soon! :)**


	42. Chapter 41

**This is short but the next chapter will be posted in the next couple of days. Thank you everyone for the love and support. **

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"Are you ever intimidated by your future, Nessa?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

Aside from the many possible interpretations of Fiyero's question, this time he only had one: "I'm talking about ruling a country. I mean, that's a big deal."

"I'm quite certain it is a long way off, so I choose not to let myself to be too troubled by it," she said simply. Her pink lips wrapped around the rim of her tea mug and she sipped quietly at the brew inside. "Either way, I trust the Unnamed God will guide me when the time comes."

"But surely you must think about it, and even if you didn't you're the only one who could possibly imagine how it would feel."

"I do think of it, from time to time. What exactly is on your mind, Fiyero?"

"How can we be sure we're not going to screw everything up? People are fallible to start. How can we fulfill these great expectations when it's possible that all we'll offer our countries are our flaws and shortcomings? Don't you ever worry that you'll be selfish and impetuous instead of wise?"

He was grateful she didn't take his words personally, though they stemmed from actuality. She merely laughed docilely. "Oh, I doubt Elphaba would ever tolerate that behavior from me. Is that why you're concerned? You think you'll be selfish and whatnot?"

"I've spent so many years never thinking about my responsibilities that I worry I'll never come to care enough. I don't worry that I'll be selfish per se, but perhaps I'll be too distracted."

"You're young, Fiyero. I believe you're allowed to be a bit distracted."


	43. Chapter 42

**Posting this today**** for Eva from Brazil who sent me a nice PM. I'll respond to you soon, Eva! **

**Thank you to everyone else who has reviewed and been so kind and supportive. You're all truly wonderful. Here's a special chapter. Hope you love it.**

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Fiyero was trying to read. He really was. But there were two problems: the first was the book he was trying to read was exceptionally boring and was putting him to sleep, and the second was Elphaba Thropp was spread out at a library table nearby by herself and she kept fidgeting.

She had been there for hours, preparing for the first of dozens of tests that plagued the last few weeks of the semester; he for half as long, but the more time that passed the more she would reach a hand up to her shoulder to rub out a growing knot or turn her neck about, trying to alleviate some tension.

And all he could think about was how effectively he could relieve that tension for her.

He shook his head, trying to focus back on his economics textbook. This particular page had a graph on it that was supposed to straightforwardly illustrate aggregate demand, which told the total quantity of goods and services consumers, businesses, and governments demanded in an economy at a given price level. In the particular model presented, one curve described the equilibrium in the market for goods and services where Y = C(Y - T) + I(r) + G and another curve showed equilibrium in the money market where M/P = L(r,Y), all of which existed in a plane where the interest rate, r, and Y, being both income and output—

She groaned quietly, and Fiyero's eyes snapped up from the text to see her stretching her neck again, her long, skillful fingers running across the back of it until they slid down, languidly, down her front to her low neckline. Her hair fell away from her shoulder as she moved, exposing the long column of her throat to the light and his darkening eyes.

He didn't move; he remained a voyeur, salivating as he wished his fingers could replace her wandering ones, but as she turned about, desperate to ease the pain that built up from having her head hung over books for hours, he could see her face taut, yearning for a release that would not come.

He didn't even remember putting down his heavy tome or crossing the room, but he was there, his fingers dancing across the thin strap of her dark dress, more teasing than touching as they ran down her arms and back again, until they came to pull her long, thick, smooth hair away from what he craved. His hands, which burned against her cool skin, settled flush against her stiff shoulders.

Elphaba slackened and fell back against him. "Thank you…" she groaned breathlessly as he applied pressure to the curve of her shoulder, finding the knots that had plagued her for hours. Every new one he discovered caused her react physically and vocally until his mind was barely functioning, but he persisted until she was soft and limp. But even then, he couldn't stop and she didn't ask him to, so his hands continued to rub her body, touching every inch of her back and pushing down her sides until he could feel the muscles of her abdomen contract reactively under the pads of his fingers.

All the while he watched her as her face changed and her breath quickened with each touch. She was warm now, but she shivered as his hands caressed her slender waist and up until his hands covered the stretched fabric of her dress across her chest, where he continued to massage her until she gasped his name.

It unraveled him. He hauled her to her feet and attacked her neck hungrily, trailing hot kisses up it and along her jaw, and though she whimpered as his palm left her chest, it was so he could reach up and turn her head to have her lips. The kiss was immediately searing, overwhelming, and the fact that she was responding back like this made him want more, so much more. Her dress was thin and smooth, leaving little to his imagination except for the feeling of her unique skin. He reached down to rectify this problem, finding the hem of her skirt near her knees and slipping underneath it to grip her bare thigh. There was a bench between their knees but it didn't stop him from drawing her in until she was heavy upon his front. She clutched at him for fear of losing her balance, digging into the flesh of his forearm at her waist and at the back of his head, and he gripped her back just as fiercely.

"Everyone's watching," she murmured into his mouth, and he broke the kiss over her shoulder to see the dozens of eyes blinking at them from every angle of the library.

"I don't care," he said between heavy breaths, the hand that was not gliding up her hip under her slip began pulling at the strap of her dress from her collar impatiently, wanting nothing in the way of his eager mouth. A dull, pleasurable pain registered as he felt her fist clench at his hair in response to his nibbles against her sensitive neck but rather than yank him away but she whispered, "Good," and turned about in his arms. Fiyero kissed her again deeply, fervently, hungrily, crashing her against the hard, wooden surface behind her with his heavy form and impatient hands. All he could hear as they tore at each other was the sound of crinkling pages under them and her voice in his ear, moaning his name.

"_Fiyero_…Fiyero…Fiyero! Wake up!"

He snapped upright in his chair just as a crumpled up wad of paper hit him in the face, and while he could still sense Elphaba's body against him, she most definitely was feet away at her desk, appearing extremely crabby, while he was still seated in his armchair.

"Whut happene'?"

"You fell asleep and you were making these weird little noises."

He found it hard to swallow as she stared back at him but managed to choke out, "Noises?"

"Yeah, like a puppy," she said cantankerously. "It was annoying and distracting. Some people are actually using this time for something other than naps."

He rubbed at his face and felt the heat in his cheeks. "Sorry."

Elphaba sighed and gave him one last look that seemed forgiving before she returned her attention back to her studies, a hand still idly around the back of her neck.

He glanced down and thanked every single Ozian god there was that the book he had been reading had settled in his lap, where his already snug pants were stretched painfully tight. Because he was trapped there with her until he could calm himself, he mulled over aggregate demand for a while. And when the idea of curves did little to settle him down, he thought as much as he could for as long as he could about Madame Morrible's hairline, which finally did the trick.


	44. Chapter 43

**Thank you to everyone who reviews and follows. To show my love, here's a long update. It's one of my favorites. Have fun!**

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Fiyero had no idea what time it was. It was really cold, for a storm had moved in that history indicated should have hit long after he retired for the evening. His breath, fouled by the stench of malt and mixed liquors, misted in front of him as he stumbled up the Crage Library steps; his mud-caked boots slipped on the slick steps as the icy rain continued to fall relentlessly down on him.

He tripped against the last stone step and fell forward with a graceless "thump" against the heavy wooden door, his inelegance having less to do with the blindingly thick sleet and more to do with the contents of his stomach, and he swatted at the old door handle only to find it locked. Dammit. Slumping against the surface he growled, cursing every Ozma he could think of. He cursed Tippetarius and Bilious and Initiata and stupid Pastoria, the regent too…

He was too busy unfairly blaspheming the House of Ozma to hear the unbolting lock over the rain and suddenly the door he was flush against cracked open. With a less-than-regal "Woah!" his face slipped against the wet wood and into the widening gap, slamming painfully against the edge of other, still-closed double door. And then a pair of arms caught him under the shoulders, saving him the further disgrace from a face-first landing on the stone entryway floor.

"Fiyero!"

"Ow." His head drooped against the shoulder of the thin but strong person that supported him and he breathed in her beautiful scent. She was so warm… "Hi Elphaba."

"My Oz, Fiyero, you're soaked through! Get inside!" she snapped, leading him in enough to be able to shut the heavy door against the roaring wind.

He tried to straighten himself up as she helped him in, but his first couple of tries were thwarted as his feet turned underneath him, like his legs were momentarily boneless and replaced with straw. Ha, third time was the charm he thought, and he stood up straight with a lopsided smile.

"Hi," he said again. She was so pretty. The Gillikenese braid – which was not her usual style but not unflattering either – was loose and a bit messy, like she had twisted bits around her fingers, and he considered reaching forward to do the same…

"What are you doing here?" she asked, distracting him from his momentary distraction.

"I was on my way home from dinner in Railway Square and it just started to rain. I was trying to get home and I saw the library and I remembered you might be in here…"

"You 'remembered'?"

"It was so long ago, I couldn't be sure, but there had been a bad storm and Glinda—"

"_Galinda_, with a 'guh'," Elphaba corrected.

"Yeah, that's what I said. Galinda was worried and had told me you didn't come home, so I thought…"

"You saw her tonight?"

"No, why?"

She sighed in aggravation. "You're drunk, Fiyero."

"Three sheets to the wind," he agreed. He followed her over to where the library's ancient hearth glowed dimly, lighting up the seating area around it in a soft orange glow. "I didn't plan on it. I went out for dinner. The Peach and Kidney's pub has a brisket that's to die for—"

"In fact, something did have to die for it," Elphaba quipped rudely, making Fiyero roll his eyes and sigh with great exaggeration.

"Don't ruin brisket for me, woman."

"I'm just pointing out the— Oh jeez, Fiyero!"

He had been so concentrated on her, excited to witness her berate him, that he didn't even notice when she did that he suddenly became top-heavy. He tried to steady himself but the balls of his feet – appropriately named, the thought in the moment – seemed impossibly round and the overcorrection backfired. He aimed for the arm of a chair nearby as he suddenly lurched forward but somehow Elphaba was there, catching him under his arm once again.

He slumped against her, grateful. She remained still and so strong, holding him upright as he collected himself. He took advantage of the moment before she'd inevitably push him away to drop his head into the crook of her neck. It was only then he realized that he had grabbed her when he fell— one of his hands was at her waist and the other had dropped against her collarbone.

Oz, she felt so good. He missed this so much; the longing within him had become so omnipresent that he was beginning to forget what she actually had felt like, but it all came crashing back to him in a wave of memories and sensation. He melded against her, wrapping his arm around her back and pulling them together, breathing her in the scent of her hair.

His fingers against her shoulder itched for the feeling of her skin. They slipped up the back of her neck, feeling the strength of her spine before settling just behind the corner of her jaw.

"What are you doing?" she said, her voice low in his ear. She didn't seem angry. He always expected her to be angry.

He nuzzled her neck with the bridge of his nose lovingly.

"You're so, so warm," he murmured. He longed to kiss her skin, to remember how it tasted. As he moved to do so she squirmed a step away from him.

"And you're freezing," she said, flattening her hand where his cold fingers had lingered under her ear. "There are still ice crystals dripping from you."

He looked down at himself self-consciously then, noticing the beads of water falling from the angles of his body and wrinkles of his clothing. Then he realized the water had absorbed into her too. The thin material of her soft sweater – some sort of gray as far as he could tell in the dimness – was clinging to her, shiny in the flickering faint light of the fire. In a panic his hands moved to her stomach, feeling the wetness of the cloth. "I got you wet!"

"It's fine, Fiyero," she said, hurryingly snatching his fingers from her side and holding them in a firm, uncomfortable grip between them to keep them away from her as if she was ticklish. She couldn't be though; she hadn't been in the forest. But then again, this version of her was more averse to touch…

Fiyero figured out, perhaps too late, that he was betraying her boundaries. He was usually so cognizant of those. She was probably only tolerating his blatant invasion of her personal space because he was being a drunk sod.

"Sorry," he mumbled, rocking away from her in embarrassment.

She had grabbed a poker and stepped over to prod at the logs, shifting them around so cinders fell from the grate and air could flow between the ashen logs. She placed a new one in then, with care, and waited patiently as it eventually started smoking and sizzling in front of her.

He wondered how often the librarians left her in here late at night, leaving her to her books and to the fire. Because there was no one around but them, of that he was sure. He took a paranoid look around, just in case, squinting his eyes to focus his blurring vision to peer at the empty librarian's desk, the vacant tables and chairs, then beyond to the shadowed aisles of shelves, seeing nothing but the occasional spine of a undoubtedly boring book jutting out farther than the rest. He thought about asking about the librarian, but instead he became entranced by her skill with the chore and the concentration of her face as she watched the fresh log roar to life. It was easy to forget the bookworm and imagine the transient Witch of the West in moments like these.

"Why don't you, you know…" He gestured circularly at the hearth, feeling his face tighten in concentration as he mimicked the words he was trying to find. "…just toss a fireball at it?"

"What are you talking about?"

He frowned, seriously confused. "You know, like _woosh…" _He imitated an explosion between his hands. "…_poof! _Magic!"

"Who said I can do that?" she asked testily, throwing the metal screen in front of the growing flames so sharply it rattled and rocked before finally stilling.

"Uh…" he trailed off stupidly. It was she who revealed such a gift to him deep in the forest, when she relit their lantern for him with nothing but a wave of her hand. He decided to go with his go-to excuse. "Galinda told me?"

Elphaba sighed angrily. "She can't keep anything to herself, can she? I told her I didn't want her blabbing her mouth to people what I'm doing in sorcery class."

"But I'm special, aren't I? Exempt from that rule?" he asked, grinning crookedly.

"Apparently," she said, but sourly. "Have I mentioned that I confronted Galinda about the things you say she's told you? She said she doesn't remember mentioning half of them."

"Oh?" He couldn't bring himself to be as worried as he should be.

"And yet she admits it's entirely likely she did."

"Sounds like Galinda," Fiyero said cheerily.

"I love her, but I don't know what to do with her sometimes." Her eyes were hard, dark, as they fell from his down to his chest. "You should get out of those clothes."

He nearly fell over at her non sequitur. He must have heard her wrong. Or completely imagined it. "Uh…say what?"

"They're wet. You're going to get sick," she said then, her voice taking on a timbre he rarely heard as she avoided his gaze.

"Right. Okay." His hands moved to his jacket buttons, wondering how he had managed to get them done-up in the first place, and fumbled for an indeterminable amount of time with the stubborn fastener. His hands were shivering still and to be honest, he could hardly feel the damn thing, but Elphaba was watching him with those intimidating dark eyes so he kept trying. "I got this. Almost there...no, wait, no I'm not. Slippery little suckers. I think this one is getting smaller... I'm just going to rip them all off, m'kay?"

"No, Fiyero, just stop, I'll do it."

Her fingers interwove through his for a moment as she found the jacket button and slid it through its opening with ease. The other two buttons followed suit and he sagged, feeling inept. But then he tensed, for her hands were under the lapels of his coat. He trembled nearly violently at this and closed his eyes as her palms glanced over his chest, which heaved in response to her unexpected touch, and slid ever so lightly over his shoulders and down the taught muscles of his arms, taking his heavy jacket with them.

She was so close to him then that he tilted his head forward and could smell the subtle scent of her soap in her hair. She simply had no idea the affect she had on him. He sucked in quiet, necessary mouthfuls of stale, library air when she moved away to drape his wet coat across the metal screen near the roaring fire to dry, unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of her inadvertently sensual touches.

"Your turn," he said throatily. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he grinned. "Mustn't get sick!"

"Fine," she said, and immediately peeled the sweater from her own body. His mouth dropped open at the sight of her curves being exposed to him in the soft lighting, with her bare arms momentarily raised above her head, creating an eye line to her small but shapely bosom and taut stomach, down around her hip…

"Happy now?" she asked, displaying her pullover for him before tossing it next to his coat. He just nodded dumbly, having clamped his mouth shut to prevent salivation. "So do you do this often? Go down to the pubs for brisket and stumble home reeking of booze?"

"Hardly. I used to. Used to be fun."

"What changed?" she asked curiously, turning back to him.

"I dunno. Grew up I guess. I bet it doesn't seem like it. I bet people still like to imagine that I'm this spoiled, carefree, party-hearty, lazy, drunk, stupid, irresponsible, messy, brainless, wild, useless, stupid—"

"You said stupid twice."

"—good-for-nothing rich playboy kid…thing," he finished, ignoring her interruption. "People think they know me—they _don't_. They didn't the first time and they definitely don't now."

"'The first time'?"

"Huh?"

"You just said 'the first time'. I don't know what you mean."

"I don't know what _you_ mean."

"Well, at least we're on the same page," Elphaba muttered.

He exhaled loudly, suddenly maudlin, oblivious to her gripe. "It's just, I'm different, you know? But it doesn't seem to matter. Things are still the same."

"What do you wish was different?"

If she hadn't asked him such a generalized question, he might not have fumbled in figuring out where to start in order to realize, "I can't talk about this. This is all secret."

"Why?"

"Because people can't know. Not yet. It's _bad_. That's why I'm here, you know? That, and because of you."

"Because you knew I was in the library?" she asked, confused.

"No, because of magic. _Poof!" _He made another bursting gesture with his hands and snorted at it. He teetered in place. "The floor is squishy."

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. "No it's not. It's your shoes."

"Oh. You think so?"

Lumbering over to the floor in front of the popping flames and dropping down there, he started removing his boots, the bottoms of which were caked in mud, and then his sopping socks, throwing them into a pile by the hearth. He made a show of wiggling his bare toes at her and falling on his back to look at her with a stupid grin, giggling. It made everything spin a little bit faster, but it was worth it: He loved it when she looked at him like that, with her one eyebrow cocked high in incredulity and the other drawn down in annoyance. It was something so Elphaba.

"Better?" she asked sarcastically.

"Much, thank you. Any clothes you want me to take off for _you_?"

"Oh please." She dropped onto a reading chair close to the warmth, moving a book from its arm onto her lap. "Why do you even care what people think about you? You're this handsome prince."

"There you go, calling me handsome again. Don't think I'm not keeping track. That's twice now," he said, his outstretched hand holding up two fingers towards her as he tried to balance his upper body on his other arm. It wasn't working very well.

"With any luck you'll forget by morning."

"Never." He hiccupped painfully and cringed, hoping it was an isolated occurrence.

"Was tonight worth it? Going out and drinking, I mean?"

"Actually, it kind of was," he said, groaning as he hit his stomach, hoping to discourage more hiccups. Feeling it was safe to speak again, he explained: "I met this old man at the bar. We managed to finish a couple pitchers of ale together by the time they cleared our plates and then we took turns treating each other to different spirits. He never had Arjiki moonshine before. Have you ever tried it?"

"No."

"Don't. You won't like it. It's like, wooooo, _strong_."

"I can see that. What did you and the old man talk about?"

Fiyero smiled dreamily, leaning back to peer up at her. "His wife, mostly. Apparently she made a brisket twice as good as The Peach and Kidney's and he goes in there to remember her."

"When did she die?" Elphaba asked him quietly.

"Four years ago, but he swore that their love was eternal and he was just waiting to see her again."

"Do you believe in such things?"

"That love can transcend time and space? I dunno. I'd like to believe it," he said meaningfully. The familiar ache filled his stomach, and he sagged back, his head bouncing upon the rug under him. "It's been so long but she's still all he thinks about. He loved her _so much_. I get that." He rolled onto his side to look at her then, with his head propped up on his hand. "You know she had a lazy eye?"

"She did?" Elphaba asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, that's how they met. In Red Sand. He worked as a clerk for the local eye doctor. She came in and he was immediately struck by her."

"Because she was strange-looking."

"No! He thought she was beautiful!"

"He did?"

"Yeah! He thought she never noticed him because he was just the shy little file clerk in the back, you know? But he finally worked up the nerve to go up to her. He asks her out and guess what she says? That she had her eye on him all along! Get it? Because she was always looking two ways at once?" He laughed heartily, slapping the floor.

"Very funny. Did she ever get her eyes fixed?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Really?" she asked, suddenly sounding anxious. Through one dramatically narrowed eye, he watched her chew on her lip. Finally, she asked timidly, "How did it not bother him?"

"He liked it about her. It made her special, you know?"

"She must have been so embarrassed about it."

Fiyero took in her green skin then; it was something he didn't think about much anymore, but it reminded him where her stress was coming from.

"I think when she realized that someone loved her exactly as she was, she got over that small detail pretty quickly."

"Small detail?" she repeated, skeptical. An arm wrapped around herself insecurely.

"Yeah," he said, rolling back to stare at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Teeny-tiny. Hardly noticeable."

The conversation hadn't been all one-sided. He had asked Fiyero if there was a girl in his life, and he told the man about Elphaba. He told her that he loved her deeply, that he wasn't sure if Elphaba would ever come to care for him the same way even though he would not expect her to. The man told him to remain steadfast. True love, he said, exists whether both people realize it or not, and it willingly waits for even the most stubborn to feel it and live it. Fiyero, being the man that he was, was agnostic spiritually and practically; he was the kind of guy that knew better to believe in anything too fiercely for risk of disappointment, but he realized if he was to believe in anything, true love wouldn't be so bad.

Moonshine can make romantics out of even the proudest of men, Fiyero's father always said.

The library fell into companionable silence. Minutes went by as Fiyero daydreamed about Elphaba and Elphaba, well, did whatever Elphaba did. He was still spread-eagle on the ground between her seat and the fire, being the classy royal he was, and after a while his bare feet were sweating and roasting against the grate.

"It's hot now," Fiyero bellyached, staring at the source of his current discomfort with scorn. The flames glowed gold and slightly pink against the ashy-black bricks beyond and the log smelled slightly spicy, as some Gillikinese breeds sometimes did, and it would have been nice had it not been so disagreeable to his toesies.

"Then move away from the fire," Elphaba said pragmatically, distracted. Why didn't he think of that? He craned his neck to peek at her; she was absorbed in an old, worn book. Predictable, he mused with a small, sleepy laugh to himself, feeling swollen with fondness. Taking her advice, he dragged himself across the floor like drunk snake with arms, wiggling against the old, faded rug until he could prop himself against the front corner of her chair. She jolted at his sudden closeness. "What are you doing?"

"It's nice over here. Are you mad?"

"No," she said pensively. "Just surprised, I guess."

"Good." He smiled to her, nuzzling her knee slightly and hugging the tall leather of her laced boot. Even though he was clinging to her leg like a child, he was in hog-heaven at being so near to her. He made sure to thank every drop of moonshine for getting him to this pathetic moment.

He loved her so damn much. He loved her more than brisket, more than sleep, more than dancing…

"Your hair is almost dry," she murmured. He felt the pleasant shock of the tips of her fingers against his scalp as she ran her hand through his hair, and he moaned softly at the sensation. To his utmost pleasure, she continued to stroke his hair, the gentle pressure of her touch causing him to all but melt onto her.

"'S makin' me sleepy," he slurred into the hem of her skirt, watching sparks from the fire float away into nothingness with fading focus.

"Then close your eyes. The storm doesn't sound like it's letting up any time soon."

"But't's a library..."

"The librarian won't be back until morning. She knows I'm in here."

"T'at's nice." He took a deep breath, comforted by her. "I like being with you. I don' feel so crazy."

"Prince Fiyero, you may be a lot of things, but I fear you're one of the sanest people I've ever met."

"That makes one'a us," he said with a sigh. Her nails were so gentle and perfect against his head. His eyelids were getting so heavy…

"I don't understand you, Fiyero," she said, as she often did. He nodded dopily against her knee. "But sometimes I forget I'm abnormal when I'm around you," she confessed in a whisper, "and I'm grateful for that."

Too tired to reply, he affectionately squeezed her booted calf, his eyes comfortably closed. Before he knew it he was fast asleep.


	45. Chapter 44

**This update is dedicated to my dedicated readers. You mean the world to me.**

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"_Yuav ua li cas yog ib niag—"_

"Mmuhh," Fiyero grunted sleepily. He turned his head more into his pillow, which was much firmer than he was used to but was really warm and Oz, he was cozy…

"—_pawg no! Cia li saib no pua!"_

Noise. Bad. "Gyugh," he grumbled. "Hmummmy…."

"Fiyero."

"Cuhmfy. G'way," Prince Fiyero commanded authoritatively, hoping that clear demand would make the voice go away so he could keep sleeping.

"Fiyero, wake up," the voice said. "You're drooling on my boot."

"_Muaj av txhua txhia qhov chaw!"_

"Whuh?"

It was about this time that information started going into Fiyero's brain: he seemed to be on a floor of some sort, he was oddly comfy with his head against something both hard and soft, and that strange surface wasn't holding still very well. Oh yeah, and his arm was wrapped around the ankle of, sure enough, a boot that was quite familiar to him.

"_Cov me nyuam! Lawv xav tias nws yog kuv lub luag hauj lwm ntxuav li tom qab lawv? Saib nyob rau ntawm qaug dej qaug cawv lout!"_

"Elphie, why are you yellin' in Qua'ati? 'S loud."

"That's not me," Elphaba's voice, somewhere above and behind him, said, and at that Fiyero craned his neck back to stare at the green girl on the couch behind him on whose knee he was apparently sleeping. He wiped at his mouth and squinted hard at her, trying to get the two Elphabas he saw to merge into one, and when they were close enough together for him to be satisfied he saw her nod to their left, where three small, squat women with red skin were waving about screaming at them. No wait— that was just one red lady. Two. No, for sure one, and definitely red. Why were all the people here so colorful?

Quadlings speak Qua'ati. Quadlings are red. All makes sense now, he thought proudly to himself. A hand on his shoulder helped him sit up independently as Elphaba's sexy voice encouraged him.

"_Qhov no yuav coj kuv cov sij hawm! Av txhua txhia qhov chaw! Kuv yeej tsis tiav!"_

"She sounds mad," Fiyero mumbled, his mouth dry, drooping forward as he considered falling asleep again.

"That's because she is. Get up, get up!"

Having been too distracted by the two different nagging voices assaulting his throbbing head upon waking, it still hadn't occurred to Fiyero to figure out where he was. Or why he woke up with a jaw sore from sleeping oddly on Elphaba Thropp's bony knee, of all places. But with the nonstop stream of the language he couldn't comprehend assaulting his currently sensitive brain, all he could do was moan and cover his ears. That was probably why he didn't hear Elphaba's warning before suddenly her hands grabbed in the ticklish spot of his armpits pulled him an impressive distance upward.

Oh boy, there's the vertigo. He struggled, grunting and groaning, to get his bendy legs underneath him to make the world around him that was starting to resemble the girl's library level out once again.

He was totally still drunk. But he was pretty sure he was already hungover too if the pounding in his skull was any indication.

"Thov," Elphaba babbled then, her clear voice far too loud in his ears. "So kom txaus peb yuav tham txog no tsis—"

That wasn't Ozian she was speaking. He didn't think.

Whatever she said didn't seem to comfort the Quadling lady at all. "_Yuav ua li cas yog muaj los tham txog? Koj qia dub nplua nuj cov me nyuam tuaj rau hauv, ua rau koj messes, thiab tsis nco qab hais tias ib tug neeg muaj mus ntxuav lawv li? Tau tawm, tau tawm!"_

"Fiyero, it's time to go," she said, leaving him teetering for a moment as she swept up all of their strewn clothing in front of them, across the floor, on the fireplace screen… It should have been more of a turn-on than it was, seeing their little bits of clothing here and there, except that they were both entirely dressed save for his boots and socks and their outerwear, and more importantly, given the lack of sex. Dammit.

He should have helped her, but instead he swayed in place, his hands itching to cover his ears– what he would do to get that woman to _shut up –_ as she shoved his socks hastily into his boots and threw his coat and her sweater over her arm hastily.

"What the hell is going on? What is she saying?" he whined, fingers finding his temples just as Elphaba grabbed him by the elbow to drag him toward the door. A beam of light hit him in the face from one of the large upper windows and, being in the state he was, he tried swatting it away and would have cursed vulgarly if Elphaba hadn't chosen just then to answer his question: "Kumbricia's cun—"

"You brought mud in from outside, and that's the cleaning lady who gets to mop it all up," Elphaba elucidated, grunting with the effort of pulling his weight and carrying all of their stuff. "I tried to calm her down but can you blame her? There are footprints everywhere."

"I feel bad," he said, stopping so suddenly that Elphaba's grip on his side had her swinging around and tripping over her own toes. He started patting his sides determinedly.

"Fiyero! What are you doing?"

He ignored her to better focus on his goal. Shoving his bulky fingers into the small pocket in the front of his tight pants, he struggled to grip the paper he felt within it. "Ah, eureka. I'll be right back."

And he stumbled away, leaving her standing next to the exit with her arms full of their things while he padded barefooted across the cold stone floor to find the squat Quadling lady by the hearth, surrounded by muddy footprints, dropping a metal bucket so irritably upon the ground that soapy water splashed over the rim and the clank of steel on stone shot through his head like the crack of a bullet.

His whimper at the din caught her attention. He could see more clearly now; she must have been only about Galinda's height but twice her weight, her ruddy skin leathery with indecipherable age and her dark hair pulled up in a tight, strict bun. Her black eyes shot daggers into him – he could sense genuine hatred for him as he slouched before her, tall and sloppy and indisputably drunk – and as she began shouting again in her language he reached forward and grabbed her hand in his.

She was so startled by the action that she thankfully halted her shrieking. He could see this moment would be short-lived, however, so he rushed, "I'm very, _very_ sorry. Really. I was dumb and I was inattentive and now you have to do more work. Here, I want to give this to you. For the trouble."

He didn't know if she understood, but she listened anyway and he opened up her strong, red fingers and placed a handful of folded, colorful bills into them purposefully. She gasped at the sum of money she now gripped and in a flurry of unintelligible words she tried shoving it back at him but Fiyero just smiled and strutted away. Well, more like tottered away, but stylishly.

He didn't say anything as he walked past Elphaba, who stood speechless by the door, for he was desperate for fresh air and pushed through the weighty wooden door to the crisp air outside with absolute gladness.

The forgotten sunlight from the rising sun caught him full in the face, blasting him with amplified brightness.

Oz, he was going to keel over. Or puke. Probably puke.

"I'll never drink again," he swore, burying himself in his hands.

"What was that in there?" Elphaba said. She sounded snippy, like she was unhappy, and he peeked through his fingers at her insecurely.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not." She seemed agitated, like she'd pace or twitch or wring her hands except she was still carrying all of his stuff. How embarrassing.

He reached out and took his things a little at a time and she continued to stand there, stiff and flustered, staring at him while he tried putting on his socks and his boots.

One thing about boots? They're hard to put on sober. He grunted and growled, pitching sideways into the wall as he struggled to slip one on.

"Why did you do that?"

He looked up, frowning and confused. "Because my balance is impaired?"

"No! Fiyero!" Now she definitely was agitated, but why he was still too intoxicated to know or care. "Why did you give her all that money?"

Was she mad about that? Maybe if he were perfectly sober he wouldn't understand either. Gosh, girls were confusing.

"I dunno." He pushed the last of his heel into his boot and stood up straight.

"You don't know."

"I just…she…uh…" He didn't do it expecting praise, and he certainly didn't expect criticism. He just did it. "I don't need it, and she probably does. What if she has 40 kids at home? Or a herd of cats curling around her legs when she walks in waiting for milk that she couldn't get because she's stuck here wiping up my mud all day? That's horrible. I can't do that to those cats."

"A clowder."

"You want chowder? Well, it's a little early, but—"

"What's wrong with you? No, a group of cats is a _clowder_, not a herd."

"Ohh. Right. Okay. Nifty. Can always rely on you for good facts."

"So…basically, you did it for the cats."

"I don't know if there are cats. I just did it. I didn't realize it would upset you. Sorry."

"I'm not upset," she snapped, like his assumption provoked her. "Not at all! It was…nice. Really nice. I just didn't expect it. From you."

"I can't imagine why," he said, as he took his coat from her hands to lessen her burden. See? He was considerate.

The cool air was clearing his mind. It was as though he was suddenly seeing her with utmost clarity right then, and the way the sunshine, so absolutely clear, lit her features, he was completely mesmerized by her. Her irises, always so dark, were absolutely striking now, glowing with hues of green and gold and brown and blue. He had never seen anything else like them in Oz, like they were beyond this land, better than it, just like she was. They enthralled him, and this taste of purity he saw in them was addicting, pulling him in.

Elphaba, always uneasy by such attention, still hadn't moved. He expected it. It was inevitable, especially given her distrustful nature and her pinched brow. He actually rocked closer to her, still hypnotized in his scrutiny, and yet she still didn't move; feeling daring, he seriously considered indulging himself, consent to his every desire and sweep her into his arms and crash into her to caress, to lick, to taste, to nibble, and to altogether lose himself in those slightly parted lips that seemed to be waiting for him.

An enthusiastic wolf whistle caught his attention.

"Way to go Your _Excellency_! Ow ow!"

Some guys whose names he didn't even know were walking down the path, stumbling home after their own night of frivolity, the necks of beer and liquor bottles raised above their heads in toast to him.

He glanced down, only one boot on, rumpled, no coat, standing outside of the dark library while Elphaba only just slipped on her own sweater. Ha, he knew what this looked like. He grinned, cockily at the agreeable implication that he and Elphaba had a different reason to be tousled coming out of the closed library, and gave the strangers a thumbs-up in gratitude for their support.

They moved on, warbling some offensive song about a barmaid named Looseel, and Fiyero turned as he slipped on his other shoe, still smiling to Elphaba…who was not smiling in the slightest. He took in her unamused scowl with incomprehension. It's not like they actually did anything – dammit again, he should have at least kissed her – and those guys were too loaded too care or gossip about them or even remember later. "What?"

"You're an ass," she spat. "I forget how stupidly male you are."

He just shrugged and gave a sheepish grin, throwing a casual arm around her shoulder chummily. It was a testament to their strange rapport that she only recoiled slightly and didn't instantly push him away.

"If word spreads that I'm just another one of your dalliances—"

Another one? Were the rumors around Shiz about his flirtations really so successful? Damn it all.

"Why would you give a twig about that?" he questioned before she could have threatened to magic him into a rodent or balloon or a tooth or something.

"I don't," she insisted, slipping out from under his arm to begin her walk home. He followed. "Of course I don't."

_Of course she does_. _She just pretends not to._

"No one would believe it anyway," she rushed, her voice just a murmur.

"Yeah," he sighed, "you're probably right about that." He became glum at the thought, for she was, had always been, and would always be, too brilliant, too impassioned, too ambitious, and too philanthropic for a guy like him. And he'd always be that carefree prince, wouldn't he? He came into her world that way and that world wouldn't let him change, would it?

At least it really didn't matter if other people believed it. He just hoped that one day she'd believe it, but that didn't seem likely.

Silence enveloped them, but not the good kind of silence they were usually so good at. It was different and he didn't like it. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, so Fiyero assumed she was cold. He held out his coat for her to take as they walked, in step, but she blatantly ignored it.

"Take it."

"I'm fine."

"Take it."

"No."

"Take it."

"No, _thank you_."

"Take it."

"_Fiyero_!"

He pouted but gave up, leaving the coat folded over his arm. He didn't need it. He felt hot, despite the cool morning, but he had the alcohol to blame for that.

"So…" He wanted to break the silence. "You know Qua'ati," he said, as more of a statement than a question, but trying to remember why. "Because that's normal, people know Qua'ati…?"

"I grew up in Quadling Country," she reminded him. "For a few years, anyway." Looking up at him and seeing his interest, she continued, seeming at once unwilling and indifferent. "My father, before he took up my mother's governorship from her grandfather, spent his years grieving her by doing missionary work in the south." That sounded almost respectable, Fiyero thought. "The people of Qhoyre and the funny little low towns, built on the boggy ground, weren't very responsive to his slants about the generous nature of the Unnamed God. Nessa and I lived the life of gypsy children, slopping from settlement to settlement while my father preached. Invariably, they would relent out of hospitality, but you couldn't say their hearts were in it. I think I sensed a great deal more than Papa did how ineffectual we really were."

"We?" he repeated, wishing to know her part in it.

She paved on, having not heard him. "Men from the Emerald City began to drain the badlands to get to its ruby deposits; a wasteful effort, really. They managed to chase the Quadlings out and kill them or round them up in internment camps and leave them to die. They despoiled the badlands, raked up the rubies and left." Fiyero remembered their first history class together in this timeline, in which Dillamond spoke of the ruby raids. He didn't realize at the time that she had had a front-row seat to it. "The Quadlings struggled against them with ill-argued proclamations. They resorted to totems, for their only weapons against the invaders were slingshots, and rallied around my father the _evangelist_."

"You're bitter," he noticed, hearing it not in her words but in her tone.

"Papa would point to me as proof," she explained, not denying it. "I was a _tool_." Now he saw it more clearly, the deep resentment she rarely showed, but now that the ball was rolling she couldn't seem to stop. "My dear father used me – and Nessa less so, because of her trouble moving about on the narrow trails – he used me as an object lesson. Looking as I did, they trusted him partly as a response to the freakiness of me. If the Unnamed God could love _me_, then imagine how that god would be to the unadulterated _them_."

"You must hate him." He certainly despised Frexspar the Godly. How could anyone make a spectacle of their child like that? How could a father bring shame and humiliation to something so pure and innocent? He was a hypocrite – and frankly, a dick – to exploit a little girl to distribute the affection of his god. Especially a little girl who would end up being as remarkable as Elphaba Thropp.

"How can you say that?" she said, steaming. "I love the mad old tunnel-visioned bastard. He really believed in what he preached! I think he considered it work well done."

"But you don't."

"How do I know?" she asked, expecting no answer. "The state carried on, sure, but there was no outcry throughout Oz proper. Nobody was listening. Who cared about the Quadlings?"

"After how they viewed you, why do you hold such allegiance to them?"

"They were frightened and manipulated! Why should they have done differently? I was miserably shy and ashamed of my color but that was nothing compared to the hardships they faced. Yet still they were good people. They invited us in and offered us damp little cakes and lukewarm red mint tea and listened to my father from the beginning, even before they had any reason to."

She stopped then, and Fiyero – having a hard enough time keeping up with her with his feet weighty and clumsy as they were – tripped over himself in an effort to brake.

"Thank you, Fiyero," she said curtly, and though her gaze was dark and intense it avoided his. "For helping her. You probably didn't know what you were doing at the time, but I do. So…thanks."

He knew, but saying so wouldn't matter. He grinned a lopsided grin and finally she softened, smirking slightly in return.

It made him brave.

"I'm going to get food at the refectory. You should join. You know, with me. Breakfast, that is. Breakfast with me," he stammered, feeling daffy but unabashed. "Though, I should warn you now, I plan on eating every single piece of bacon they have. And like fourteen fried eggs."

"I don't care about the eggs."

"I know," he said, still having hope. "You coming?"

Elphaba shook her head, sending his stomach falling somewhere he couldn't determine in his disappointment. "I think I'm going to go back to the room and sleep. If what you told me last night is true, then Galinda will be worried for me anyway." She smiled then, softly and beautifully, clearly relishing the thought of a friend concerned for her. He sometimes forgot that she had missed out on so many of the subtleties of love and friendship in her sad life and he was so glad for Galinda.

"Okay. Remind her of our lunch date."

"As if she'd forget," Elphaba said, walking away.


End file.
